


Shadow in the Silverwood

by caleon



Series: Blades of Narnia [6]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure/Romance, Blades of Narnia, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 49,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7546631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caleon/pseuds/caleon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen hundred years after Narnia's Age of Light, apprentice scribe Jaelyn Lumen learns of a Narnia that she never knew existed. Blades of Narnia, Book Six</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Myth of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Writing the first five books of the “Blades of Narnia” series over the course of three years remains one of my all-time favorite literary undertakings. It was a labor of love that began with the 2005 Disney release of “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.” From there, my Narnia came to life on its own, and the single story meant to follow Edmund in the Golden Age became a cross-world saga spanning several books. At the end of the fifth book, several readers emailed me, kindly and enthusiastically asking me if I might consider revisiting the characters in the “Blades” series. I hesitated, citing all the professional writing I should be doing, but that proverbial wardrobe door continues to stand enticingly open, and any dreamer worth her salt knows she has to step through. This story is dedicated to you, fellow adventurers.

_Anvard Castle, Archenland  
Summer 2303_

“But Master Rune, I’ve already copied this text!” protested Jaelyn.

“Copy it again,” grunted the old master scribe.

“I’ve practiced and practiced all afternoon,” she said, glancing out the window at the sun shining on the plain below the castle. A gorgeous, golden, late-summer day, and she was missing the whole thing. She pointed to the pages in front of her. Not one spare drop of ink marred her work. “My letters are perfect!”

Rune pushed Jaelyn’s writing box across the timeworn table and glared at her with that familiar grumpy look. “And you will never master the position of a castle scribe, Jaelyn Lumen, unless you employ some patience. Come to that, you could do with some humility as well, young lady.” He pulled a sanded parchment toward him. “Look at these cardinal letters. Sloppy curvature. No grace. Space entirely wasted on the page.” He tossed her parchment across the table with a careless scowl. “How do you think men will look back on recorded history, as written by someone with so little love of recording it?”

Jaelyn tried to rein in the stubborn impulse to point out that Archenland hadn’t had an event interesting enough to record in three hundred years. Her family had been poor, and her one blessing (or curse) was that she possessed decent handwriting, taught her by a blastedly diligent old man whom her mother had nursed back to health when Jaelyn was but a child. When her parents died of the fever, that skill had saved her from the streets. She had received a position at Anvard, transcribing histories and documents, but as Rune said, there was no love in it. Her heart lay in the forests and fields and the adventures to be had in the wild, not in a stuffy library.

No, everything that was interesting had been happening in Narnia. The mysterious death of the king, Caspian IX! The disappearance of the lords of Narnia’s seven provinces! Secret whispers of betrayal and deceit! Just the thought of the story to be unearthed set her fingers itching. That was a _real_ story. Not this quill-scratching, berry-pressing, finger-staining chore of recording dusty old volumes no one ever looked at.

She groaned at the stacks of books and scrolls and wondered that the table wasn’t groaning with her under their weight. “If only I could just magically transfer all these ...” she muttered.

“There is no such thing as magic,” Rune scolded. “There is only hard work ... and industry ... and patience.”

 _That last of which Master Rune seems to be lacking,_ she thought, attempting to hide a rueful smile.

She wasn’t quite successful. Rune cuffed her in the back of the head with a sheaf of papers. “And _humility_ ,” he reminded her. He dropped the papers on the table before her. “Finish that text and begin the following, up to the page I’ve marked. If you finish ... with some attention to detail, this time ... you may join the serving staff in the clearing tonight.”

Jaelyn beamed. The staff held bonfires and dances and singing on fine evenings, in a clearing beside the castle. Rune was her guardian, mentor, and perpetual scold, but he did let her out from under her scrolls and books upon occasion ... and she loved to sing. “Thank you, Master Rune.”

He grunted again, more indulgently. “See that you copy the text in its entirety. No skipping passages ... understood?”

She nodded vigorously. Rune left the hour-marked candle at her table and exited the library.

 

\- # -

 

The candle had burned through three hours. Jaelyn had started on the new text, but by the twentieth page, the words began to blur and swim before her eyes. She rubbed them, smearing ink on her cheeks and not caring. Rune had probably known she’d be too tired to join in the festivities tonight, blast the old grouch. She sighed, picturing the satisfied look on his face when he learned she had spent the night poring over the texts as he’d been trying to get her to do all day. There would be no chance for song tonight, after all.

With an enormous yawn, she turned the page.

And found something that didn’t belong there.

A paper had been folded into the crease of the book. She picked it carefully out. It was so brittle, it crackled in her fingers. Unfolding it, she found a letter.

_To His Majesty Edmund Pevensie, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, King of Narnia by the Order of Aslan_

_Cair Paravel, Narnia_  
_Lion’s Year 1030_

Bless it, this letter was old. Jaelyn wondered if it were among the things Rune meant her to copy. What was that “lion’s year” all about? And who, in the name of all of Archenland, was Aslan?

_Honored Father,_

_Selbaran has no love for the Hags of Ettinsmoor._

Hags? Jaelyn had heard of old crones referred to as such things by rude folk ... but why would the writer have capitalized it? She gave it up for a style of old speech and went on reading.

_I have no love for the chore of routing the last of them from the Silverwood, either. Many still support the White Witch’s ideals—_

Wait. Witch? As in, magic? Magic, as in, there was no such thing as magic?

_—and I cannot help but think that, were she not a monument of stone now standing on the plain before Cair Paravel, they would be searching out ways to join her cause once more._

_I long to return home to you and Mother, and cease this restless hunting. You will tell me it is a prince’s duty, and you are right, but it is a lonely one. I haven’t your stomach for such a separation from everything I hold dear. Here, I have only the forest._

Jaelyn ran her fingers lightly over the page, feeling the writer’s loneliness echo down through nearly 1300 years. And she’d thought herself lonely. She had only books and musty scrolls to battle in her solitude, rather than supporters of a (she could hardly even think the word, still confused about the reference to magic) witch.

_I look forward to news of your doings. I heard from my captain that my Good Cousin, Prince Aedan, has been training for a general at Beruna. He is much admired among my soldiers. It is unfortunate that they do not know him as I do, for I am certain he is as much the thwart as he has ever been. I pray he is not troubling the High King overmuch with his pranks._

_Tomorrow I shall go to the North and finish expelling the Hags back to their homeland. It is my hope that this conflict will be over soon, and I may return to Narnia not for a returning warrior’s welcome, but to the welcome of my family’s faces._

_Your Obedient and Loving Son,_

_Silas Faywater Pevensie_

_Knight of the Noble Order of the Table_  
_Lord of Silverwood_  
_Prince Regent of the Dryads of Selbaran_

_Silverwood Castle, Selbaran_

Jaelyn almost crumpled the letter in her surprise. Dryads? No, wait. A prince of dryads? She turned the letter over in her hands, but there was no seal, no mark, no residue of wax. It had never reached its intended recipient ... a king of Narnia, so the letter claimed. And that wasn’t even addressing the business about a “High King.”

Her first thought was to put the letter directly into Rune’s hands. Its historic significance alone, if it were not falsified, made it invaluable to Anvard’s library.

But magic. Magic was real? The writer had certainly treated it as if he believed so ... even going so far as to call himself a prince of dryads. A legend. A tree spirit. A figment.

“A madman,” she mumbled. In all her studies, she’d never heard of King Edmund, Prince Silas, Cair Paravel, or Silverwood Castle. Selbaran, yes, though Archenland had no contact with that forest island. Narnia, certainly ... but the seat of Narnia rested at Starshold with Lord Miraz.

Jaelyn pushed out of her seat and carried the hours candle to the map table. She selected Anvard’s oldest known map and spread it out on the surface. Tracing a finger north from Anvard, she crossed the mountains and followed the River Rush. Settlements dotted the Narnian landscape even then—towns that had sprung up like mushrooms after Narnia was conquered by the Telmarines. According to the map’s date, it had been created shortly after the Telmarine invasion of Narnia some three hundred years ago. Narnia and Archenland had been tenuous neighbors ever since.

Finally, her work as a historian and scribe had begun to have some use, even if she’d never felt she belonged here. “Beruna, Beruna,” she murmured, searching.

There—a town settlement.

Narnia. Beruna. And Ettinsmoor, there at the top as it should be. She traced a finger into the Great Eastern Ocean and found Selbaran. From what little she knew, the island had been closed to travelers since before this map was created. How could it possibly have had such a close relation to Narnia, so far away?

Then she noticed a small mark close to the center of Selbaran.

Silverwood.

“So you did exist,” she murmured. She wondered if a castle still stood there. A quick check of the newer maps confirmed no existence of Silverwood.

She sped her finger back across the sea to Narnia, but found no trace of Cair Paravel on the oldest map or any of the others. It was quite possible, of course, that it had fallen into ruin since the time of the letter.

_How sad. I wonder if he ever returned home to his family._

A warm gust through the library window spilled her maps and the letter onto the floor. She bent to pick things up.

The library door burst open. Jaelyn panicked and stuffed Silas’s letter into her sleeve, surely crushing it this time.

Rune carried a single candle. His hands shook so hard, the flame guttered and threw his face into ghastly shadows. “Gather your things, Jaelyn, quickly!”

“What? What is it?” she said, rushing to pick up her quills with alarm.

“No, no! Leave those! You must go ... now, tonight, this moment!”

“Master Rune, please tell me what is wrong!”

Rune hurried to a shelf and pulled a wooden box off the top. He shoved it at her. “Take that and your traveling pack and run deep into the forest. Hide the box, and make it safe. Do not come back.”

_“What?”_

The old master scribe rounded on her. “Lord Miraz of Narnia has borne a son and sent his nephew, Caspian the Tenth, into exile. They are sending soldiers to Anvard.”

“What’s happening? Why are you so frightened?”

 _“Do you not understand, girl!”_ Rune roared, and Jaelyn trembled at the unaccustomed sound. “Miraz moves to assure his progeny’s rule across the land. They are going to attack!”


	2. The Traveler

_Cair Paravel, Narnia  
Spring 1030 _

 “Well, that’s it,” said High King Peter from the chair of his state room desk. “Anvard’s about to be sacked.”

“What?” Cori burst out, turning on him with alarm.

Peter gave her a rueful look and waved the letter in his hands. “Our dear son is in love ... so he thinks.”

Cori tilted her head. “With whom?”

“Cor’s daughter, Ingride. He won’t hear of the match—she’s only fourteen. Far too young.”

“Aedan is not all that long in years, himself,” Cori muttered.

“Ten,” Peter admitted, “but he’s nearly a man grown. Older than me, when I took the throne. The magic in his blood, no doubt ... which he’ll use as an excuse to tell you he’s old enough, himself, so I wouldn’t go needling him about his youth.”

“He has your stubbornness, I am afraid,” Cori sighed.

Peter angled a dry look at her and went back to reading. “He says he’s heard from Silas’s captain. More fighting in Silverwood. Aedan’s itching to go help him.”

The state room door opened and Edmund walked in, trailing a breathtakingly beautiful child with long waves of black hair and blue eyes. “Uncle, you promised!”

“Save me,” Ed pleaded to Peter.

The little girl rushed to Peter’s desk. “Uncle Edmund promised he’d take me to see the Boars.”

Edmund caught Peter’s eye and made a motion as if to hold his nose. When the little girl looked, Ed quickly scratched his head instead. Cori stifled a snort of laughter.

Peter shared a grin with Cori. The Boars were as loyal to Narnia as any of the Good Beasts, and just as deserving of respect ... but their scent had been known to put her dryad-soulbound (and smell-sensitive) brother-in-law off his food.

Peter pulled the child onto his lap. Susan’s daughter beamed. “I’ll tell you what, Danae. Aunt Lucy and I will take you to see the Boars. I should visit Grum, anyway.” He added a bit of pointed reprimand to his tone. “Your uncle does like truffles, and the Boars are handy at finding them.”

Ed raised his brow at Peter.

“Aedan has written that he’s heard from Silas’s captain,” Cori said to Edmund. “Have you received any news from Silas himself?”

“Not of late,” Ed said, and she caught a flash of dismay in his eyes. Edmund and Asha had never been able to conceive another child after the loss of their infant daughter Helen. If any harm came to their only son, Cori could hardly imagine how her brother- and sister-in-law might take it.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Peter said lightly. “He wouldn’t dare finish the job in Selbaran and leave Aedan nothing to fight after his training is complete.”

Ed gave him a quick look, but Cori saw the gratitude in it. When he spoke, his tone was regretful. “I threw down the gauntlet, telling him of all our victories as young men. He merely picked it up and slapped me with it.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Cori said. She reached for Ed’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “How can anyone not want to emulate Narnia’s finest soldiers?”

 _“Uncle Peter,”_ said Danae, hopping up and down on his lap. “When do we leave? The Boars tell the best stories!”

He smiled indulgently. “We leave now. _If_ you’ve told your parents.”

“Of course I have,” she pouted.

“Then off we go, to get stories and truffles alike,” Peter said. He escorted Danae from the state room.

When they were alone, Cori stood on tiptoe and kissed Ed’s cheek. “I’m certain he’s fine,” she said softly. “He has his father’s bravery.”

Ed took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Always the insightful one, my lady.”

She grinned. “I do try.”

\- # -

_Archenland  
2303_

Jaelyn stumbled along a rocky path, weary, but still walking. Every time she stopped to rest, she heard the panic in her master’s voice when he told her to run and not return. Her water supply was gone already, drunk in a moment of thirst. She’d never had to ration anything before.

Not return to her only home? What was so important in this box, that he’d made her flee with it? She’d been tempted to stop and open it, but her fear of capture was, so far, greater than any curiosity.

Until she got to a crossroad that would take her either into Narnia or deeper into Archenland.

“Which way?” she murmured. She pushed the hood of her lightweight cloak off her head and checked in each direction. Rune had only said to run into the forest, and there was forest in both directions. With a frustrated sigh, she sat at the fork in the road and opened the wooden box.

Inside was a book—a small one, no bigger than her outspread hand, and in a language she didn’t understand. She didn’t understand the etchings, either, but they terrified her.

A great creature with a cat’s body, the head of an eagle, and enormous wings. A wolf, standing on two legs like a man. A horrifying creature with an old woman’s body, and the beak of a bird of prey. Afraid of the next image, she turned the page again ... and found what looked like a human, standing among a grove of trees.

The least frightening of the lot, she thought with a sigh of relief. What was this book of dreadful images?

Tucked into the back cover was a loose sheet of paper. She hesitated, uncertain if she really wanted to know what was inside ... but what else could she do now, jelly-legged and with no direction? She opened the paper.

_To The Esteemed Doctor Cornelius,_

_May this book be useful to you, at least in academic terms. I cannot help you further. Magic no longer exists in Archenland. It is my hope that you may know what to do with the enclosed, but I must confess to being grateful it is out of my hands. I have no wish to stand against what may be coming. Rather, I would keep myself and those I care for far out of your Lord Protector’s reach._

_Regards,_

_Rune_

Jaelyn’s hands shook so that she dropped the second page. No longer magic ... not never any at all? Then Silas’s letter was true. It was all true. Rune had lied ... to protect her, yes, but lied. What else had he kept from her? _Why_ had he kept it from her?

Through her tears, she retrieved the second page and read aloud.

 _“Centuries hence_  
_comes spirit from thence_  
_Born of magic,_  
_Of magic borne_  
_By the call of ivory horn,_  
_The hand of magic to bring recompense.”_

 A gust of wind blew across the road and whipped the papers out of her hands. She gasped and held the book firm to her chest, and she swore she heard the echo of a horn on the wind.

Shuddering and tearful and completely without understanding of anything that had happened in two days, she grabbed up her pack and rushed blindly down the road to Narnia.

Half a day she ran, walked, and then stumbled, unsure what she might be running from, before she realized she was heading in the direction of Telmarine-occupied Narnia.

All this way, wasted in panic and without thought, running _toward_ the danger. What had she been thinking?

Exhaustion brought her to tears. The path blurred before her, and she tripped over a stone. Sobbing now, she had just enough presence of mind to get off the road and into the woods.

In the forest, she dragged herself along for endless steps. Each time she wanted to stop, something drove her on. Fear, determination, a compelling force, she knew not what. Finally, she tripped over a fallen log and dropped onto her belly in the leaf litter, and there she fell deep asleep.

 - # -

 Hands curled behind her head and back, and lifted. Limply, she allowed it. She had no strength to fight it.

The hands settled her into something soft. She was warm. She was comfortable. Was she home? Had she been dreaming?

She had to force her own eyes open. She saw a crouching male figure silhouetted against firelight, and heard the metallic shiver of chain mail.

A soldier.

She cowered back against the log and blankets in which she had slept.

Slept? Blankets?

The figure noticed her motion and turned toward her. She froze, but couldn’t stifle the yelp of panic that escaped her lips.

The figure rose upright. Taller than she—wiry but broad-shouldered. She doubted she could outrun him.

He came toward her with something in his hands—a knife? With another yelp, she threw off the blankets and began to scramble away over the log.

“I won’t hurt you!” he said.

She stopped, and then smelled food. Her stomach roared greedily. Feeling her cheeks grow hot, she turned around.

The figure crouched and held the something out—a bowl of meat and bread. “It’s the last of what I have. It’s yours, if you want it.”

Cautiously, she studied him. He certainly wasn’t posed like he meant to threaten her. She hesitated and then reached out. He leaned toward her, and she held her breath as he bent into the firelight.

Unruly dark hair just brushed the tops of his ears. His eyes were bottomless brown with a touch of green like a deep forest, and gazing at her out of a striking face. He held out the bowl. “Go on, take it.”

She did, and ate ravenously. The soldier said nothing ... just watched her, and periodically looked around the forest as if he expected something and it wasn’t happening. She was too hungry to care.

When she was on the crust of bread, he got up and circled the fire. At a large oak, he paused. He let his hand hover over the bark for a moment, then he touched it.

Only crickets and the popping fire disturbed the silence. He lifted his hand away and rubbed his fingers with a quizzical frown.

He came back to her with a frustrated look. “Are you all right now?”

“Yes,” she said. With a gesture encompassing the food and blankets, she added, “Thank you.” Good manners kicked her until she added, “How can I repay your kindness, Sir ...?”

He seemed to gather up his composure, and gave her a very formal bow. “Silas Pevensie, my lady. I would be very obliged if you could tell me where I am.”


	3. Displaced

The girl started. Silas’s name wasn’t unfamiliar to her, but she didn’t bow or make any other motion, which put him instantly on guard. “Southern Narnia,” she said plainly.

Silas looked around again. If Narnia it were, then why weren’t the trees talking or greeting him?

He studied the girl again. She was human, no doubt of that, and of lower class by her dress, perhaps a servant. He bent and took the empty bowl from her. “What is your name?”

Her gaze shot up to his—wide blue eyes staring out from a pale, freckled face. A wisp of honey-colored hair, burnished copper by the firelight, peeked out from her cloak’s hood. Her full lips pursed.

“You have my word I will not harm you,” he said. “Are you lost?”

She stifled a sound suspiciously close to a sob and looked away.

His sensitive ears picked up the frightened hitching in her breath, and he glanced around the forest again. No one else was near, man or beast or dryad. “Have you run from home?” he asked, more softly.

Her gaze shot back to his, wary like a hunted animal. Even in the firelight, he saw circles under her eyes. They held each other’s gaze for a moment.

When she didn’t speak, Silas moved to get up.

“My name is Jaelyn,” she said.

He looked back.

The girl swallowed. “Jaelyn Lumen of Archenland. I’m a scribe of Anvard.”

“What are you doing in Narnia?”

“I’m on an errand for my master,” she said.

“Alone?”

“I can take care of myself.”

He grinned. A bald-faced lie, if there ever was one. What was this girl doing by herself in the forest, Lion knew how far from her home and safety?

She fluttered about in the blankets for a moment, then clambered to her feet. “I must go.”

He took her arm. “Why don’t you tell me what the hurry is, and I can help you get there safely?”

She shook his arm off. A page fluttered out of her sleeve.

He bent to pick it up, noticing the jerky step she took toward him as he did so. The paper crackled in his fingers. A corner flaked off. He hadn’t meant to—exactly—but he glanced at the words on the page as he held it out to her.

And found his name, in his own handwriting.

He pulled the page back, scanning it quickly to be sure of its origin, and held her away with his other hand while she grabbed for the letter. “Where did you get this?” he demanded. When she didn’t answer, he jerked her closer by the folds of her cloak. _“Where?”_

“I—I found it.”

“I wrote this not two days ago,” he snapped, glaring hard into her eyes. _“In Selbaran.”_ He threw down the page and jerked a knife from his belt. “Are you a spy? A sorceress? _What are you!_ ”

She stumbled and dropped onto her backside against the log. Her terrified gaze locked onto the knife in his hand, pointed at her. “You gave your word! You promised not to hurt me!”

“Clearly, I should watch my promises,” he snapped.

She shrank into a ball, and his conscience pricked him. “Please, I told you! I’m just a scribe! I found the letter in a book!”

He flared his nostrils. The scents of ink and dust and fresh parchment surrounded her like an aura. Nothing suggested a lie in her words. “A book, _where_?” he pressed.

“In Anvard’s library. I swear, I didn’t even know who you were! I still don’t! I’ve never heard of you!” She scooped up the letter with shaking fingers and folded it carefully, as if it were priceless. She held the folded page against her chest and stared at him.

A scribe of Narnia’s allied kingdom, not know the royal line of the Pevensie house? He supposed it were possible, but her expression poked at his suspicions. “Give me my letter,” he ordered.

She hugged it close. “This letter,” she said softly, “is over thirteen centuries old.”

\- # -

The prince’s breath rushed out. He looked away, and the fierce light left his eyes. He sank onto the log. For several moments, there was only the crackling of the fire. At last, still not looking at her, he spoke in a voice drained of emotion. “What year is it?”

“It is 2303 ... my lord,” Jaelyn said hesitantly. A gnawing uneasiness began spreading through her body.

The poem. That page of gibberish. She had read it aloud. Was it a spell? _Was_ she a sorceress (How could she be, and not know it?)?

Silas swallowed, still watching the flames. “I’ll never see them again.”

The loss on his face squeezed Jaelyn’s heart. Had she done this to him? Her thoughts went to the book, and she gave an inward shudder. Could that be a book of enchantments?

“I really ... _really_ must go, my lord,” she blurted, getting up.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he said.

“I have to—I should—” _Get rid of this book as soon as possible and go back to my life ... if there’s a life to go back to,_ she thought. Rune had said Lord Miraz would attack Anvard, now that he was assured a son to put on Narnia’s throne. Would she even be safe returning to Archenland?

What about this Doctor Cornelius? The book was meant for him.

Her guilt at pulling Silas from his home and his time—if she had—joined the guilt of not being at Anvard to help when it faced danger. The least she could do for Master Rune was to deliver this book to Cornelius. Perhaps he could find a way to help Anvard. The poem—spell—had been in the book, after all.

Having a plan, no matter how far-fetched, quelled the chill of fear running through Jaelyn’s body, but that only gave way to the chill of a cool forest and damp clothes from lying on the ground.

Silas’s gaze landed on her again. He picked up the blanket that had been lying on the ground, and handed it to her. “I should go to Cair Paravel,” he said quietly. Firmly, he added, “I will take you with me.”

“But—”

“I cannot in good conscience leave you in the forest alone,” he interrupted. “You are an Archenlander. You’ll be given safe quarter at Cair.” His gaze sharpened. “We _are_ still allies?”

She nodded quickly. “Allies” might be stretching the truth, but she had no wish to be his enemy, with him armed and battle-trained, and her weaponless.

“Can you ride a horse?” he asked.

“A little. Not well,” she said.

“We’ll find you one at the nearest town.”

She glanced around. “Where is yours?”

His mouth quirked up on one side, a quick flash of a smile, and it was gone. “I have no horse. Rest now.”

She shrugged gratefully into the blanket, her mind spinning with a hundred questions, but he had turned his gaze back to the trees bordering the ring of firelight. She found herself watching his silhouette until, at last, she fell deep asleep.


	4. A Talk of Kings

Silas was no fool; the girl said little, but much had changed in Narnia in thirteen hundred years. Magic was unheard of—barring his sudden presence here, which involved her somehow, he was certain. Dryads, Talking Animals, river spirits, even the evil creatures who had followed the White Witch—none of them existed anymore, as far as Jaelyn knew. The loneliness of that revelation nearly choked him.

Jaelyn could tell him little of events in Narnia, for her education and experience was limited only to those books and letters her teacher had told her to transcribe. Books full of nothing that could help him, for they were accounts of Archen history, not Narnian. From the little he gleaned, Narnia was now under the dominion of the Telmarines, and the current ruler, a Lord Miraz, held court at a castle some way from Cair Paravel. Jaelyn had not heard of Cair until she found his letter.

That disturbed him to his very bones.

They had paused at a tiny town, no more than a struggling outpost, for supplies. No one asked questions when he traded a few pieces of silver for the horse and some provisions. He hated throwing his money around and risking robbery. He was certain they were aware of his class standing at least, but he gave a false name. Best not to be known in unfamiliar country where he knew little of the political mindset.

Jaelyn now rode beside him on a plodding chestnut horse, awkwardly enough that she might have fallen off if he didn’t walk beside her and hold the animal’s reins. He had to smile, watching her. She made even his poor horsemanship skills look good. A dryad needed no horse for travel, and so he had never thought it necessary to develop the talent, but he could at least sit atop one without teetering like a drunken dwarf. He could have traveled much faster without her, too—but a girl of her obvious inexperience with the wild would only get into trouble. That, his code of honor could not allow.

As they walked along, he let the sun warm his face and listened to the rustling of leaves in the breeze. The sound only made him miss the whisper of the trees talking to one another.

Jaelyn seemed to read his thoughts as she rode beside him. “Are you really a dryad?”

“Half,” he said. “My father is human. He was ... _is_ ... a king of Narnia.”

“ _A_ king, not _the_ king?” she asked quizzically. A moment later, she gave a wavering yelp and he heard her slide from the saddle.

He dodged backward and caught her by the waist, then helped her back onto the horse. She shot him a look of embarrassment, and then looked away.

He cleared his throat and went back to walking the horse. “In my time, Narnia has four monarchs. Two kings, and two queens. My uncle Peter is High King under Aslan himself.”

“Aslan. Is he another king?”

“Aslan is _the_ king. King of Narnia, king of the whole world.”

“I’ve never heard of such a man.”

“He’s not a man. He’s a lion. _The_ Lion,” Silas said softly.

“A lion, rule the world?”

The skepticism in her voice pricked at his sense of respect for Aslan. “Trust me,” he said irritably, “he is more than capable.”

“And your mother? Is she one of the queens of Narnia?”

“She is queen of Selbaran. As she stays in Narnia with my father, I am left to rule Selbaran as regent in her stead,” Silas answered. When she didn’t respond, he looked back to find such a mystified look on her face that he had to grin. “It’s not really that complicated. Have you never heard of Narnia’s Hundred Year Winter?”

“There are no records of ... anything like you ... in Anvard’s library,” she said as they approached the River Rush (much changed from his time, for the bank had cut deeper into the earth, and they had to walk alongside it for some time to find a crossing). “What does a dryad do?”

“Do?” He laughed. “What do _you_ do?”

“I only meant what makes you different from a human? To me, you look like one of us.”

“The Selbarani dryads can take a human shape,” he said as they found a sandbar where they could cross. He reached up. “Get down. The horse will need his footing, and you’re likely to take a swim if he missteps.”

Jaelyn slipped from the saddle and he grasped her around the waist. Her cheeks took on that curious human shade of dark pink, and she avoided his eyes. He set her on her feet, and for a few seconds he found himself staring at her with his hands still on her waist. A lock of her hair fluttered across her cheek, and the urge grabbed him to brush it away for her.

He released her at once, before impulse could become action. “We are tied to the health and life of the forests around us,” he went on, as if there had never been a pause. He took her hand and helped her across a cluster of slick rocks. “As the trees flourish, dryads flourish. As they suffer, we feel it. They speak to us. Not like humans ... but we sense them.”

“What happened to them all? How could dryads just vanish, and leave no record behind?” Jaelyn asked, and the tone of her question made it sound like she was asking herself, not him. She might well have been, for Silas couldn’t have answered. What _had_ happened in thirteen hundred years to pull all magic from Narnia? Where was Aslan?

Again, Jaelyn seemed to hear his thoughts. “Could the lion have died?”

“Never,” Silas barked. Then, more quietly, he said, “Well, not never. He died once, but he returned.”

“How can that be?”

“Magic. The Deep Magic—the most powerful magic possible.”

She paused mid-river, shaking her head. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

She gave him an offended glare. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Look,” he said as he handed her off to the opposite bank, “I don’t understand it, myself, but when Aslan has a paw in something—as he surely does in this—you don’t go around trying to question it.”

She tilted her head. “You do put a lot of trust in this lion, don’t you?”

“He’s everything,” Silas answered simply.

Jaelyn stared at him so long after that, not speaking, that he had to look at her as he reached the bank. And then he discovered he was staring back.

His people expected him to marry a dryad. A Selbarani dryad. He was only half, as it was, and they expected a union that would bind him to the forest island in blood as well as duty. But for the first time, he found himself noticing a human.

It ended there. She was human. She was a commoner. And she was neither Narnian nor Selbarani.

Not to mention, not even from his century.

He shook off his thoughts with an irritated shrug. “We should keep moving,” he snapped. “It’ll be weeks before we get to Cair, traveling this slow.”

“I didn’t ask for your guidance,” the girl muttered. All the same, she allowed him to boost her back onto the horse.

“Which reminds me,” he said. “Where is this errand for your master supposed to take you?”

“I don’t know.”

“How helpful.”

“Might we interrupt?” called a voice.

Silas went for his sword before the stranger got his first syllable out. _Stupid!_ he cursed himself, finding five rough-looking men lined up in front of them across the bank.

“We’ll be takin’ that ‘orse, and whatever you got that’s shiny and expensive,” the stranger said with a leer.

Correction. Not a stranger. Silas recognized the man as the one who had sold him the horse.

He groaned. This just kept getting better.


	5. Lucy and Van, Explorers Semi-Extraordinaire

_Southern Borderlands, Narnia_  
_Spring 1030_

 “I’m all right,” Lucy called, panting from recent battle. “Come see this.”

Around her lay the remnants of six dead orcs who appeared to have been trying to cross into Narnia through the mountains of Archenland. She laid her quarterstaff down.

Vandelar stalked toward her, pausing to kick out a dying campfire. He cleaned his sai on the damp grass and put them away, then examined a bloody wound on his forearm.

“All right?” she asked, reaching for the diamond bottle on her belt.

“Save your cordial. I’ve had worse.” Van grinned. “Your brother’s _given_ me worse.” At her indication, he nudged the shoulder of one of the dead orcs with the toe of his boot. The creature’s grayish-green skin bore an elaborate tattoo of the desert tribes. “They must have come from Calormen.”

“Or they wanted us to believe they did. That doesn’t look like an old tattoo. See the redness around the edges?”

Van made a thoughtful noise. “Do you think Cor is aware of them?”

“He’d have sent a border guard.”

“I’ll put Saris on it as soon as we find a messenger.”

A tree rustled behind them. Van whirled around. His sai reappeared in both hands, gleaming.

“It’s just me!” called a voice.

Van visibly relaxed. He glanced back over his shoulder at Lucy with a ruefully arched brow.

“Aurora,” they said together.

Their daughter, nearly six, emerged from the trees picking leaves out of her long, sand-colored braid.

“You go back to Cair at once, young lady,” Van snapped.

“I will not. Danae said I could go with you.”

“ _Danae_ is not your mother or father,” said Van.

“You leave all the time!” Aurora cried. “You and mother are always off on adventures, while I must sit at home and weave, and knit, and embroider, and study—”

“—and get some learning in, before you go off to get your limbs removed by bandits in the wilderness,” Van said with a scowl.

Aurora stomped toward them. Her scowl at Van softened when she met Lucy’s eyes. “Mother, tell him. Tell him how you and Aunt Susan brought a whole army to the Battle of Beruna, all by yourselves.”

“We were with Aslan, Rory,” Lucy reminded her, “and we didn’t fight. I was no bigger than you at the time. I couldn’t have lifted a sword.”

“Furthermore, we’ve got a batch of non-Calormene orcs to sort out—” Van started.

“Of course they aren’t Calormene, Papa,” Rory said, pointing to the tattoo. “I’ve been following their tracks for two days, right down from Cair.”

“From _Cair_?” Lucy echoed, just as Van whipped around to stare at their daughter.

Rory nodded vigorously. “They’ve got one of those bowls with the red soot in it, too, I think. I saw some residue at their last campsite.”

Van continued to stare, while Lucy gave a grim nod. Take the best tracker in all of Narnia—times ten—and you still couldn’t equal Rory’s talent for it. “They were communicating with someone, then,” said Lucy.

“And I’m not going to like it until I know with whom,” Van responded. He held out his arm. “Well done, Rory.”

Beaming, Rory ran at his legs and grabbed him around the waist in a bear hug. Van chuckled and gave her braid a tug.

Lucy knew of two such bowls, a magical sort of telephone where each user could communicate with the other, no matter the distance, by igniting the soot in the bottom of one of the mirrored vessels. The other ignited in response, and established a path along which sound—voices—could travel back and forth.

One of the bowls resided at Cair, and had once belonged to a master tailor plotting to poison Edmund. The other, at her last reckoning, was at Silverwood Castle in Selbaran.

Unless the orcs had stolen it ... which meant they were using it to communicate with someone _inside_ Cair Paravel.

A great flapping issued from overhead. Van looked up. “It’s high time you got here!”

The dragon Maddoken landed in the clearing, sleek and fit and smacking his jowls. Shortly after him came Arrow, Lucy’s griffin companion. “We ssssstopped to eat,” Maddoken said.

“ _He_ stopped to eat,” Arrow said dryly. “I stopped to wait for him and be thoroughly put off.”

Maddoken saw the dead orcs, and stomped forward with a toothy, dragonish grin. His tongue flickered out. “Are thessssse for me?”

“Can you hold your appetite at least until we’ve finished investigating them?” Van groaned.

Maddoken flicked his tongue at Van and turned his good eye toward him. “ _Ssssso_ lucky I like you.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Van rumbled.

“Madd, could you search the woods nearby and be certain none of the orcs escaped us?” Lucy asked.

“May I eat them?”

Lucy took a deep breath and tried to remember that all Narnians were worthy of respect, no matter their eating habits. “Do what you feel is right,” she said, “but if one is carrying a mirrored bowl, it must be brought back to us intact.”

Maddoken barely waited for her to finish her orders before he shot off into the sky again.

Arrow sidled up to her. “If he were not your mate’s companion, I should never associate with him.”

“You would, too, for all your complaint,” Lucy said with a smile.

“Hi, Arrow!” Rory tackled the griffin in a hug. The beast stumbled back with an _Oof!_ , and Lucy had some trouble containing a snicker. One never took such liberties with a griffin ... unless one was Rory, and the griffin was Arrow.

“How did you get here, child?” the griffin demanded sternly.

“Don’t be mad, Arrow. I’m helping,” Rory said, petting his ears.

“Nest-feathers,” Arrow grumbled, shaking his head and raising it out of her reach, but there was no sting in his tone. “Get on my back, and I will take you home.”

“No, Arrow, let her stay,” Lucy said, wanting her daughter safe nearby, and not at the castle. For in the fist of one of the dead orcs, she found a tiny wooden box. She took it and thumbed the ornate brass latch. Carefully, she flipped the box open.

Inside lay a pile of hair clippings, dark brown, unrecognizable. “Van? Come here and see if you can scent these.”

Van stalked forward, then crouched beside her. Of any of them present, his nose was the most sensitive. The reptile sense of smell wasn’t as good, and anyway, Madd’s capture and torture by enemy forces years ago had damaged much of his sensory capability. Arrow paid for his deficiency in smell with superior vision, even at his age. She and Rory were human, or too largely so to be much help. The stain of the wooden box masked any scent she or her daughter might get from its contents.

Van leaned forward and took a sniff. He lurched back with consternation on his features.

Lucy clapped the box shut. “What? _What?_ ”

Van rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. “That’s Silas’s hair.”


	6. The Fate of Cair

Silas took a careful step backward, until he was shoulder to shoulder with Jaelyn. “Can you defend yourself?” he muttered while she stared in horror at their unwelcome visitors.

“With what?” she hissed back. “I don’t even have a pointed quill!”

“I thought not.” Silas scooped her into the air with a swipe of his arms. With a shriek of surprise, she plopped onto the horse’s back. “Stay mid-river,” he ordered.

 _“What?”_ she called, near panic.

But Silas didn’t answer. In one instant he was standing there, staring at her with those mesmerizing eyes, and then _whoosh_ , he disappeared. A cloud of leaves whirled into the air where he had been standing.

Jaelyn’s horse snorted and pranced backward. She yelped and flung her arms around its neck to avoid falling off.

The men on the riverbank were even less composed. Shouting in alarm, they scrambled in every which direction. The leaves—Was that still Silas?—spun around the closest man, who turned, wild-eyed, trying to follow them.

And then—she could hardly follow the motion herself—the leaves solidified, and there was Silas again, sword drawn, _clang-clang_. A firm kick, and the man was down, defeated. Just as quick, Silas disappeared, and there were only leaves in his place, rushing through the air and evading every swing of the men’s weapons. One by one, the bandits fell, until at last, only one remained. It happened so fast, Jaelyn was certain she must be dreaming it.

Silas materialized again, standing with his sword drawn between the last man and Jaelyn, who remained frozen on the horse’s back. “Go home,” Silas ordered. “Tell the rest of your riffraff that there will be no more raiding in these woods.”

The man’s eyes bugged out, and he bolted away. Breathless, Silas turned round to face Jaelyn. “Are you all right?”

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even move. Her arms were still locked around the horse’s neck, and she was sure she must be strangling the poor creature. She stared at Silas, every bit as frightened of him as she’d been of the bandits. And then it began to sink in.

Not a dream. A nightmare. Hearing him talk of dryads was one thing. Seeing it, seeing something that shouldn’t be possible—and seeing how lethal he’d been—drove a spike of terror through her. She tried to say something, but the only thing that came out was a choked-off whimper.

Silas mistook the sound for distress at the battle. He lowered his sword and sloshed into the river toward her.

Jaelyn lurched back, then slid from the horse with a cry and landed with a splash in the river, on her backside and up to her neck.

Silas dropped his sword in the water and strode forward, splashing waves of his own in all directions as he came.

Jaelyn scrambled backward, with her mouth open and not realizing it until she slipped and fell flat. Water poured down her throat and into her eyes. She panicked and tried to cough it up, only to choke on more of it.

A hand fisted in the front of her cloak and pulled her up. Water sloshed off of her and spilled from her face. Coughing violently, she flailed against his grasp.

“Calm down!” Silas said.

She squawked, half hoping the remaining bandit would return to see what was happening, and maybe distract Silas so she could flee. Shoving at his hands, she struggled to get her feet under her.

Silas did it for her. Strong hands set her upright, but held her firm with her arms pinned. “I am _not_ going to hurt you.”

She stilled long enough to make the mistake of looking into his eyes. Warm. Fathomless. Soothing. She looked away at once, fearful of that bewitching stare.

He blew a harsh breath. “I just defended us from attack and Lion knows what else, and _I’m_ a monster?”

“I don’t know _what_ you are!” she cried, throwing his hands off, and angrier still because she knew he’d allowed it. “I’ve never met a single thing _like_ you!”

He jerked back as if she’d slapped him. “I’m not a _thing_ ,” he said.

She knew she’d stung him, but she couldn’t quite get an apology out. Neither could she look him in the face, though she felt his expectant stare on her. If she looked into his eyes again, she might drown as surely as she almost had in the river. She feared, most of all, that she might welcome it. Her gaze, searching for anything else on which to land, came to rest instead on the bodies strewn along the riverbank.

He looked back over his shoulder, following her gaze. When he turned back to her, he sought her eyes and this time, kept at it until their gazes met. “Is my word not good enough for you?”

“I have no idea what kind of ... man ... you are,” she managed, shivering with the chill of the river, and with apprehension. “How am I to judge someone I’ve never met, from thirteen hundred years ago, who might even now be putting me under spells?” Even through her fears, she stared him down, forcing defiance into her tone.

He paused a moment. “Where I am from, the word of an honorable man is worth lives,” he told her. “I would like to think I fit the description.” He gave her a stiff nod, then turned to fish his sword from the river.

 - # -

They didn’t speak at all during the long journey north. Silas wouldn’t normally have minded this. He was a soldier, accustomed to taciturn troops who spoke only when answering an order. He was vigilant, too, for any sign that the forests might sense his presence, but the trees were mute as stones. The absence of their reaction to him began to wear. Something was not right in Narnia; he knew it even before they arrived at the sea, where he knew Cair Paravel should be, and yet they found nothing.

Silas stared at the rushing waters at the mouth of the river where Cair had once stood. Separated now from the land, the cliffside where the castle had perched was now an island unto itself. It was crowned with tall trees, but no trace of the monument that had once been there, nor the port town that had surrounded it.

_Mother. Father._

They’d have been dead for centuries, of course. He’d expected that. He’d been preparing himself for the evidence of it during their trip here. But he had expected to find _something, someone_ left behind. Not this total, sterile silence. A traitorous thought slipped in and shook his faith in the Lion by its roots.

Where had Aslan gone?

“We can’t cross that,” Jaelyn said nervously at his shoulder. “At least ... I can’t. I can’t swim well enough.”

He squinted through the misty haze of the river delta at the island. It was a moment before he could find enough composure to keep his voice steady. “I’ll help you,” he said, “but you’ll have to trust me.” He tied the horse to a scrubby tree that clung to the riverbank. “We’ll be back here by nightfall, I expect.”

Her eyes got big. “Can you conjure a boat?”

“No. But a bridge will do well enough.” He stared into her eyes. “Whatever happens, keep walking toward that island. I won’t let you fall.”

“What ... ?” she started to say.

But Silas shifted again, into vines this time, strong and thick and woody, and allowed his shape to knot itself into a rope bridge spanning the water for several meters. It was as far as he could go without losing hold of the shape. He waited, wondering if she would set foot on the bridge he’d made for her. Doubting it.

But she seemed to be made of sterner stuff than he’d expected. After a few seconds, she stepped forward. He sensed her fear, and concentrated harder than he ever had on keeping his shape steady and strong. Her hands shook. Her whole body shook. If he’d been in his human form, he’d have chuckled ... and then probably regretted it as soon as she gave him that dagger-eyed glare.

As she stepped forward, muttering something under her breath which even his sharp senses couldn’t catch, he let go of the bridge shape behind her and re-formed it ahead, until at last they had spanned the entire space to the island.

When she touched ground again, still trembling, he returned to his human shape. “Well done.”

She was sweating and shivering and hugging herself, but she nodded.

“Wait here and rest a bit. I’ll find water,” he said gently. Off he went, a cloud of leaves. With the immediate goal of food and water, he felt more confident.

Apples were plentiful in these woods, and he collected several. But when he found the ruined well (he smelled it before he saw it, for it was covered in weeds), his confidence wavered. For there, half-buried in the soil and noticed only because of its sheen, he found a chess piece. A knight, solid gold and missing one of its ruby eyes.

Silently he filled his waterskin and brought it with the apples and chess piece back to the beach. On the way, he sensed the ruin and decay of old structures around him, and his heart grew heavier with every sign. Even then, he wanted to disbelieve what was plain to his senses ... until he noticed the huge stones resting against what remained of a smashed wall.

Jaelyn waited for him, sitting beside their few possessions. She seemed less frightened when he changed back to his human form this time, but he hardly acknowledged it, thumbing the little figurine in his hand.

“What’s that? Is that gold?” Her mouth opened, and she looked around with narrowed eyes. Scrutinizing their surroundings, he knew. Putting together what he’d already guessed. Cair was gone, and no trace of it would be left in Narnia. His senses and his magic had already told him exactly when the damage had been done, because his heart screamed in outrage at it.

“This belonged to my father,” he said quietly. “He played chess every evening with my uncle Peter.” He met Jaelyn’s eyes this time. “Cair Paravel didn’t fall to ruin over time. It was attacked. I think my family was killed.”


	7. In the Ruins

Jaelyn’s heart lurched at the overwhelming sorrow in Silas’s eyes. He didn’t scream, as she might have. As she had done, if she remembered right, when she lost her parents to the fever. Nor did he break down into tears, which she’d also have done ... and _had_ done, more recently. She had thought herself alone on this task. What must it feel like to be alone in the world, your only ties murdered and their home sacked? It would have been thirteen centuries ago, to her ... but to him, only yesterday.

She stared into the woods and found a crumbling bit of stone wall. “Is there anything here you might ... recover?” she asked. _Salvage_ sounded so final.

His fist clenched convulsively. “My father’s sword. And Rhindon, the sword of the High King. If ... If they still exist.”

She opened her mouth to ask how they might find such artifacts underneath thirteen hundred years of decay, but bit the question back at once. Silas’s eyes remained unfocused with pain. She couldn’t bear to add to it with fumbling questions.

“Right, then,” she said firmly, grabbing up her traveling pack and shouldering it. “Let’s get to it.” She started off past him without a clue where to go, knowing only that the look in his eyes stabbed at her like a knife.

Her motion seemed to thrust him back to the present. He strode into the woods with her, and was soon leading the way with purpose in his step. Several times, he stopped and appeared to listen—or maybe he was doing something dryad-y with that strange, motionless stance—and they changed direction. Gradually the ground sloped upward, and they soon found themselves in the middle of what, to Jaelyn’s eyes, was a pile of rubble and the remains of damaged walls.

Silas clearly saw something else in the broken stones. His head came up, and he navigated the ruin as if it were not in pieces around his feet. Presently they walked between two rows of broken columns, then mounted what was left of a stone dais.

Silas went straight to a row of four crumbling platforms. “This is what’s left of the Four Thrones,” he said softly. To the second seat, he gave a deferential bow, as if a king still sat there.

Next, he bent to the first ruined platform. Gently, he brushed the stone base. “My father’s seat,” he murmured, and she barely heard it. Jaelyn stared, uncertain what to say and somehow feeling it would be shameful to disturb him with words.

From there, he strode to the end of the dais. All Jaelyn saw was a wall. “Help me,” he said.

She went forward, not knowing what she was to do, but he pushed at the wall. She hurried to help. To her shock, it gave and rolled back to reveal a rotting wooden door.

Silas pulled at the wood, and it came away with ease. She followed his example, until they’d revealed a stairway leading down into the gloomy depths. “Are you sure we must go down there?”

“This is the treasure house.” Silas took a couple of steps downward, then held up a hand. A cluster of silvery leaves materialized in his palm, spinning like a little whirlwind.

Silver, she saw with astonishment. Just like a handful of birch leaves, but sparkling when they caught reflected light. It didn’t take much; what little illumination there was in the stairwell reflected off the leaves and bounced off the marble walls, enough to provide visibility down the steps. She gaped in wonder.

He noticed her look, and flashed a smile. “A trick my mother taught me. Birch dryads’ leaves carry a silver shine.”

“There are _kinds_ of dryads?”

“Of course. As many as there are kinds of trees. Narnia is ... was ... full of them.” The smile disappeared, swallowed again by that troubled look which tugged at her. “Come down.”

She followed. At the bottom of the steps was a gate. And through that ...

A fortune. Golden candelabras, golden coins, jewels, armor. Even a small golden statue of a lion, which could have bought and sold her entire existence a thousand times over. “Ohhhhh,” she breathed.

Silas went straight to the second of four large, golden chests at the perimeter of the room. Behind it stood a regal marble statue of a handsome, bearded man. “Is that ... ?” she started to ask.

“My uncle, High King Peter the Magnificent. Aslan himself appointed him.” Silas found a torch, leaning crookedly in its bracket on the wall, and instructed her to light it using his tinderbox. She did, and set it into a bracket still mounted securely.

Silas put away the little whirlwind of leaves in his palm, and the glitter dancing along the ceiling ceased. In the fire’s glow, he opened the High King’s trunk to a veritable stockpile of wealth in weapons and armor. “It’s here. Thank the Lion, it’s here.” He lifted a sword from the chest. His eyes never moved from it as he pulled it from its scabbard to study the etching on the blade.

“What does it say?” she asked.

“It’s part of the legend of the coming of Aslan,” he murmured. “He who broke the Hundred Year Winter.”

Jaelyn stole a look at the golden lion statue by the fourth chest. She still had trouble reconciling the creature that Silas spoke of so reverently with a beast, even one as intimidating as a lion. “And who are these?” she asked, seeing statues of two women, similarly placed behind chests of their own. How regal they looked! Jaelyn tried to ignore her own stained robes, and failed utterly. Even cast in marble, the women gave off a grace she couldn’t hope to imitate. She had never before cared about such things ... but she’d never been acquainted with a prince.

Silas re-sheathed the blade of his uncle’s sword. “My aunts, Queen Susan the Gentle, and Queen Lucy the Valiant.” He turned to the first chest in the row, and the statue behind it. “This one,” he finished, and now his voice had gone hoarse, “is my father, King Edmund the Just.” He stood motionless for a while, still with that isolated, drifting look in his eyes.

Carefully, Jaelyn picked her way through the rubble on the floor to stand beside him. She examined the statue, and saw at once the similarities between the features in the marble face, and those of the man beside her. She could no longer doubt it, even if she’d wanted.

Silas came back to the present and lifted the lid of this new chest. Inside, he laid hands on a shield, still bright with red and gold paint and the emblem of a lion on its face. Next came a sword, simply but masterfully crafted, with a fan-shaped hilt and a birch-leaf pattern embossed into its scabbard. King Edmund’s things, she guessed.

Silas’s face was grim. “Their weapons are all here. They wouldn’t have known the castle was being attacked. What happened?”

He seemed not to require an answer, but Jaelyn squirmed with guilt. His arrival here must be her fault. How could it be otherwise? She’d read that spell.

Silas tied the swords carefully into a bundle using a velvet robe and heavy silk cord from the trunk, then slung the works across his back. “Can you carry the shield?” he asked, holding it out to her.

The way he held it, it looked lightweight enough. She eyed the bundle across his back—two heavy swords, plus his own weapons. He’d buckle under all that weight ... eventually. She held out her hands for the shield.

He handed it over, and she dropped it at once with a thud that echoed in the chamber. “Sorry!” she cried, feeling disrespectful in the extreme.

She was astonished to find him laughing quietly. “Now you know how I felt when I held my first sword and shield.”

“How old were you?”

“Five,” he said.

“Five!” she cried. “The shield would nearly have been as big as you!”

He smiled. “Dryad children grow quickly. I was about as tall as a human child of ten summers. Stronger than a human, as well.” He started toward her, reaching for the shield as if to take it back.

“I can do this,” she countered. She hefted it up and buckled it across her back. It felt strange, a bit ungainly, but less so now.

The corner of his mouth tilted upward. For a few seconds, that pleased look in his eyes held her to the spot as if _she_ were a deep-rooted tree. All at once, the space between them seemed impossibly small. She noticed little things about him; the way he stood, lightly, as if to dart off in any direction at any given moment. The way his forelock seemed forever untamed. That slight dimple in his chin, and even the way the stubble shadowed his face in the firelight.

He was looking, too. His stare softened, warmed, traveled over her in a way that made her shiver. There was admiration there, and something more. She held her breath. For several seconds, the world stopped existing.

Silas broke their gaze first, jerking away to the remaining two chests. From these, he pulled a little belt with a pouch and dagger. “Buckle these around your waist,” he said gruffly. “It’s my aunt’s healing cordial. We could meet with anything out there, and Aslan knows, we may need it.” As she followed his instructions, he went to Queen Susan’s trunk and withdrew a bow and arrows. He frowned and pawed through the rest of the contents. “Aunt Susan’s horn is missing.”

The consternation in his tone pricked her anxiety. “Is that bad?”

“They blew it only in times of great danger.” His worried eyes met hers. “I need to find out what magic brought me here, and if it can be reversed. I may be able to go back and stop whatever happened here.”

Jaelyn shifted uneasily. “What was this ... horn ... like?”

“A gift from Father Christmas, when my father and his siblings first came to Narnia. A magical horn, carved with the face of a lion, that would bring help whenever the horn was blown. An ivory horn.”

A chill poured through Jaelyn’s body, and along with it, another flood of guilt. “We should get out of here,” she said quickly.

He was across the space in an instant, stopping her retreat with a firm hand on her arm. “What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing. Nothing,” she blurted.

His nostrils flared. “You’re not a very good cheat, Jaelyn. I can smell a lie when you tell it.”

That rattled her. “Take your hand off me ... please.”

He snatched it back, but his eyes had gone hard. “Are there any Narnians left, or is this land now just full of humans?” He said _human_ as if it were a curse word.

She shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know! If there are, they’ll have retreated from Lord Miraz’s grasp. Far north, maybe, or into the forests.”

Silas watched her with narrowed eyes, and she felt he could almost reach down inside her with that stare and shake out every lie she’d ever told. At last, he hefted the bundle of swords into a better spot on his shoulder, then snatched the torch from its bracket. His eyes flashed in the flickering light. “Then into the forests we’ll go.”


	8. Trumpkin

Silas refused to talk to her during, or after, the return to the mainland. At first, because he resented that guilty-as-possible look on her face. Something about his aunt’s horn, he was certain. Perhaps something about its disappearance. There was just enough doubt that he stopped at going through her things in search of it. That didn’t mean he trusted her for one second. He hadn’t forgotten how she’d happened to come upon a letter he’d written, and now here he was.

He buckled their packs onto the horse in disgruntled silence. When he lifted her onto the animal’s back, he tried to ignore how small she felt, how lightweight in his hands under her cloak and robes. That was a little harder.

Her questions became more frequent as they traveled along the river. He stuck to one-word answers, practically bitten off. The cautious note in her voice grew more upset as time passed. Finally, she burst out, “For pity’s sake, please say what’s on your mind!”

He rounded on her, and jerked the horse’s reins so that the animal had to skid to a stop. Jaelyn wobbled and clapped a hand over the saddle’s pommel to stay upright. “I want to know what you have to do with my appearance here, far out of my time, and why my family’s home is in ruins,” he snapped. “I want to know why you can’t hear about my aunt’s horn without looking like you’ve stolen it. I want to know why you have my letter, and why you’re looking at me right now as if you’re responsible for this whole mess.”

He glared up at her, expecting an answer, but her look of shock was no longer directed at him. She stared over his shoulder, white-faced. He looked behind him.

A pair of armored men was stopped mid-river in a little boat. One of them lifted a wriggling bundle over the side and dropped it into the water. Even at this distance, Silas heard him order the other man that their victim would drown well enough, and to hurry up and get them out of there.

“Telmarines,” Jaelyn whispered.

In a split second, Silas had transformed into a rush of leaves and was across the water. One fast shift, _slash-slash_ , and he’d dispatched the men.

Into the water he plunged, in his human form now, diving for the struggling bundle of cloth and hair at the bottom of the river.

He came up with a spluttering armful of dwarf, and swam with him to the bank where Jaelyn waited. Silas cut the dwarf’s bonds. The dwarf pulled a gag from his mouth and threw it to the stony bank with disgust. “Cursed thieving Telmarines,” he growled.

“What was that all about?” Silas asked.

The dwarf eyed him. “Who are you? Another of them?” He jerked his chin at the now-drifting boat.

“Who are _you_?” Silas asked.

“Well, I ain’t no bloody Telmarine.”

Silas tilted his head. “Neither am I.”

The dwarf stilled and took another look at him. “By the Lion,” he murmured. “Are you a Narnian?”

“I am.”

“Trumpkin,” said the dwarf, putting out his hand. “Thank you for your help, sir ... ?”

Silas inhaled deeply. The dwarf smelled of human—no surprise, given he’d just been nearly drowned by a pair of them—but under that were familiar scents that Silas had breathed around the halls of Cair Paravel for much of his young life. Centaur. Satyr. Badger. Wolf. The scents were the first inkling of home he’d had in this strange, new Narnia. Silas shook Trumpkin’s hand. “Silas Faywater Pevensie,” he responded.

Trumpkin’s eyes grew round. “Pevensie? Like the Kings and Queens of Old?”

Silas nodded. “King Edmund is my father. I’m a prince of Narnia.”

“Beards and bedsteads!” Trumpkin looked at him still more carefully. “Maybe that horn worked, after all.”

“Horn?” Jaelyn’s voice broke into the conversation. She sat upright, all attention. Even from where he stood, Silas smelled relief pouring off of her.

Trumpkin nodded to her. “The horn of—”

“Queen Susan, my aunt,” Silas finished, still staring at Jaelyn. When she caught him looking, she ducked her head.

_Still not out of the noose,_ Silas thought darkly. To Trumpkin, he said, “I think we’d better have a talk.”

“Too right, Your Highness. The Old Narnians’ll be needing your help.”

 - # -

Jaelyn still couldn’t believe they’d set the horse loose. After a short talk, during which neither Silas nor the dwarf (Dwarf! Narnia had dwarves!) asked her opinion, it was decided that the going would be easier by boat. She was no better a seafarer than a horseback rider, but at least she’d grown accustomed to the animal.

If only she’d been allowed to stay at Anvard and await what came with the rest of her fellow Archenlanders! She’d always wanted adventure, wanted to see the world. She hadn’t bargained for scrapes with bandits and run-ins with fierce-looking dwarves. What other madness was in store for her, not three days out of her homeland? Everything here was strange and frightening, and only getting more so.

As Silas rowed the boat along the river, deeper into Narnia, she found herself looking southward toward Archenland. She had just enough control over her fear to keep from bursting into tears. _I didn’t want this._

Silas caught her eye. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine.” She pulled her cloak tighter around herself, unable to look at him. Would nothing be familiar again? She had no idea what to do with the book of magic in her knapsack, and no idea if she’d ever get home to Archenland. Certainly no idea where this unwanted adventure would take her. She’d been thrown into a maelstrom, and there was absolutely nothing solid to hold onto anymore.

And Silas was the crux of the problem. She kept comparing him in her head to the creature in the magic book, wondering if he possessed still more frightening abilities that she hadn’t even seen yet. Who was to say that these terrifying Narnians—Silas’s people—were any better to rule than Miraz? What did she really know about them?

And where in all of this undomesticated land would she find this Doctor Cornelius? The only hope she had of finding him was that, judging by the tone of Rune’s letter, whomever might be with Cornelius would also be opposed to Miraz’s rule. The Narnians were, no doubt of that ... but what might they do to her? She was human, and they hated humans. _I love you, Rune, but I don’t think I’m right for this task._ She spent the rest of their journey in silence and increasing trepidation.

Finally, they began to push toward a riverbank far inland. The dwarf held the boat alongside the shore while Silas and Jaelyn lighted on the bank with their things. “No sense keeping the boat now, Your Highness. It’ll just give them a way to track us. Better to let it drift or go under.”

Leave the boat? No means of travel at all? Jaelyn started to protest, but Silas advised Trumpkin to submerge it, and she watched their means of travel sink to the bottom of the river.

“Don’t worry, miss, it’s not far now, even on foot,” Trumpkin said, clearly assuming she sided with Silas on this whole Miraz mess. “Then we’ll be among the Narnians.” He and Silas gathered up the rest of their things and started off.

Jaelyn followed. _That’s what I’m worried about._


	9. Wild

Trumpkin led them into denser and darker reaches of the forest. Even though the sun hadn’t yet set, the forest floor was dim under the full canopy.

As they walked, Silas could sense a change in the trees. Not the dead, reactive soughing of wind in the branches that had prevailed so far. Here, where there was barely a breath of breeze in the thick of the woods, he heard leaves rustle when he passed.

“Not long, now,” Trumpkin said. The shadows grew longer and deeper, and night fell.

Before Silas knew it, they came upon a minotaur on patrol. Silas tensed and looked to Trumpkin.

“It’s all right, Your Highness. He’s one of the Old Narnians.” Trumpkin signaled the minotaur, who approached. “Best lead us to the prince,” said the dwarf. “He’ll want to see these folk.”

 _Prince?_ Hadn’t he been told that the new monarchy of Narnia was trying to stamp out the Old Narnians? Silas hung back near Jaelyn, who gave him a worried-looking shrug.

The minotaur studied them with shrewd, curious eyes, but led them farther into the forest. Presently they came upon a grotto ringed on three sides in natural stone walls, as if a branch of the river had once run here, strongly enough to carve out a waterfall, but dried up long ago. Along the walls and in the nearby trees ranged a staggering number of creatures—tiger, stag, hare, squirrel, and raven. Silas spied more of the minotaurs, and even a pair of hags, among the group.

In the center of this assembly stood a human, a bit taller than Silas, with dark eyes and almost-black hair that brushed the nape of his neck.

As soon as the strange human turned toward them, he was joined by a pointy-nosed Badger. “A dryad, Your Highness! I’d bet my fur on it! Why, I thought they’d all disappeared!”

Trumpkin turned to Silas. “A dryad?”

“Yes. Half,” Silas admitted warily.

There was a sudden swarm of excited creatures around him, all chattering and asking questions at once. Jostled by the crush, Silas lost sight of Jaelyn. “Wait, wait,” Silas protested, overrun by jubilant faces and a hundred demands. Trumpkin shouted for order, but he was ignored.

“Hold!” shouted a voice. “Give him room. Let him speak!”

The crowd parted, and the human stranger came forward through the break. “I am Caspian the Tenth, heir to the throne of Narnia.”

Silas raised an eyebrow. “Caspian.” In his own time, the Caspians had remained in Telmar. Trading had been established, and relations with Narnia were amicable. What had happened in all this time to bring about such a change?

When Caspian extended his hand, Silas hesitated.

And then Jaelyn was at his side. “Prince Caspian. Then you’re Miraz’s nephew,” she said.

Caspian gave Jaelyn a brief nod. “It is true that I lived in the house of Miraz. Until my aunt bore a son, I was next to take the throne. Now I am a refugee, as are these good folk.”

The creatures around him agreed heartily. Silas looked into Caspian’s face and found no deception. He shook the young man’s hand. “Silas Faywater Pevensie,” he said, loudly enough for their company to hear. “My father is King Edmund the Just, of Narnia’s Golden Age, and my mother is Asha Faywater, then Queen of Selbaran. I am hoping Your Highness will tell me how I come to be here.”

Another uproar rippled through the assembly until Caspian shouted for silence. He stared at Silas. “So the ivory horn of Queen Susan truly can summon aid ... even across time. Are you really a dryad?”

“By my mother,” Silas admitted.

“Sire, he can awaken the trees!” blurted a Squirrel from the branches overhead. Its tail twitched with furious speed.

Caspian held up a hand. “First things first. You’ve traveled long to get here, and I dare say you’re in need of food and rest. I’ll explain all.”

\- # - 

What had she been thinking as a child? Jaelyn accepted food and warm furs and the well-wishes of dozens of animals, but what she really wanted was a place to hide and fall to pieces. So much for her grand ideas of adventure. She’d been completely naïve. Now she was days away from everything dear and familiar, in a land full of strangers, with an impossible task ahead of her and battle looming on the horizon.

Not to mention, she still felt responsible for Silas’s appearance here. If the horn could summon help, then why had Silas appeared in her path, and not Caspian’s? Had her spell (if it was one) changed the horn’s intent? There was that “call of ivory horn” bit in its verse. Had she mucked things completely up so that the Narnians would now lose their imminent battle with the Telmarines? Then what would become of Archenland, next in the Telmarines’ path?

She had listened carefully to the Old Narnians’ conversations for any mention of a Cornelius, but gotten nowhere. Silas and Caspian were deep in conversation for some time after their meeting, and she sat alone by a low fire, trying to warm herself in spite of chilling thoughts that she’d ruined everything for Narnia.

The fauns had struck a rhythmic tune on their flutes, maybe in celebration of their good fortune at Silas’s arrival. Someone began to beat a drum to the song, and then the chime of a tambourine joined in. The silhouettes of various creatures danced, pranced, or glided past her fire. _Good fortune, ha,_ she thought gloomily. _How can it be fortunate when I’ve messed it all up?_

“Haven’t you eaten?” came Silas’s voice.

“A bit,” she said. If a cup of wine and half a crust of bread qualified as _a bit_. Her stomach couldn’t have taken much more. “They haven’t much food, as it is,” she added. “Won’t they need it for whatever’s coming? Won’t _you_ need it?”

“I can feed on earth, when I’ve changed form,” he said.

Jaelyn raised her eyebrows. “I hadn’t thought of that.” The music began to swell. Others were getting up to join the rumpus in the clearing. “What is all this?”

“That’s what I’ve come for,” he said. “You should dance.”

“What?”

“I’m going to wake the dryads and trees,” he told her, “if there are any left to respond to the Wakesong.” He held out a hand.

“How am I a help for that?”

“The more folk to dance it awake, the more willing the forest will be to awaken. A dryad hates to miss a dance, and a big one most of all. Come.” With an uncharacteristic grin, he took her hand and lifted her to her feet, then shuffled her into the circle dancing around a central fire. The flames drew haunting shadows on the faces of the revelers.

“But I don’t know the steps!” she cried as the circle swept her away, their arms linked with hers.

Flasks of wine circled the clearing at least as many times as the dancers. Her nearest partner, a young female satyr, urged her to have a sip. “Sharing it unifies the magic,” the satyr said. “Take some!”

With a heavy sigh, Jaelyn paused in her awkward dance for a drink. She nearly choked on it. “This is strong.”

“Like the magic will be, eh?” The satyr laughed and took the flask, then slipped away into the dance.

Helplessly blown along like a drift of sand, Jaelyn rounded the clearing with the rest of them. Her head whirled with dance and drink, and soon a pleasant flush had run though her entire body. She lost herself in motion, maybe a bit less awkward than she’d been. Once or twice, she thought she saw Silas, but he was always gone before she glimpsed more than his shock of dark hair in the crowd.

There. As she spun, she saw him dancing closer, a grin in his eyes. She caught his gaze, and he smiled and reached for her hand. They were spun away from each other before touching, round and round the fire. She strained to see above the leaping, spinning crowd. There, again. His arms were up, beckoning to the forest. He whirled on his heel, saw her, and another grin burst across his face. They just missed each other this time, shuffled past by other revelers.

Smoke rose from the fire, and a breeze blew it outward among the trees. Jaelyn gave up seeking the only other being she knew in this motley crowd, and let the rhythm of the song fill her. Some of the creatures had begun a wordless song in time with the music.

That, she could do. The tune poured through her, and she burst into song with the rest of them. The music built to a crescendo.

And then he was there, slammed against her in the crush of dancers. Silas grinned again and took her waist to spin her around in time with the tune. To her amazement (and a chorus of _ooh_ s from other dancers), he disappeared in a whirlwind of leaves and spun around her. He returned to his human form, and his voice blended with hers in song. Again, he swung her around, and again. Then, with a powerful sweep, he lifted her, spinning, into the air. She came back down, dizzy and breathless, in his arms, and they were off again through other dancers performing similar leaps.

Her mouth fell open at the wild, jubilant look in his eyes. Who was this man, so different from the Silas who’d appeared in her path on her flight from Archenland?

He seemed to read her thoughts. “This is _my_ Narnia,” he said with a smile. And around they went once more, with Silas now human, and now a leafy cloud whirling around her. She couldn’t help it. Giddy laughter bubbled up through her, and she had to let it out or burst.

And then he wasn’t the only cloud of leaves joining them. Cheering filled the glade. When Silas returned at last to his human form, he gave a full, throaty laugh that rang through the wood. “Wake, brothers! Rise, sisters! Join the world again!” Dryads ( _It must be dryads!_ she thought) poured past them on either side in rhythmic whirls of their own.

Many of the dancers, still cheering, pounded Silas on the back and offered hearty thanks. He laughed and nodded to them all, never releasing Jaelyn’s hand.

Then he turned his grin on her, and paused. In the midst of the spinning storm of leaves, he took her other hand, and they stood linked beside the fire. His smile faded into a fathomless look. Jaelyn held her breath, and then ceased to breathe altogether when he leaned in close and kissed her.

From that instant, she ceased worrying. No measure of distance was too difficult to travel to find this mysterious Doctor. No impending battle was too insurmountable to face. Not even her own uncertain future bothered her. When Silas kissed her, she felt she could do anything.

Even save a kingdom.


	10. Regret

Silas woke with his arm and head aching as if someone had been pounding at them with a mallet. He gave a soft groan and opened his eyes.

Thin, grey light filtered through the leaves of the forest canopy over his head. The leaves blurred slightly.

That explained the aching head. Cursed fauns’ wine. He’d never been able to stand much of it before it sent him over the edge. But what about his arm?

He shifted under what felt like a pile of completely unnecessary furs. Why in the name of the great oaks would he have asked for them, when he didn’t need protection from the cold as much as some here? It was certainly warm enough that his dryad heritage would have protected him, sleeping outdoors all night. He tried to move again, but the aching arm resisted.

Because Jaelyn was stretched out beside him, with her head pillowed on it.

Silas jerked wide awake. The rush of his returning senses hit him like another mallet blow, and he stifled another groan as his head swam in sickening circles.

Jaelyn mumbled something and curled up into a tighter ball under the furs.

With a soft curse, Silas eased his arm out from under her. Once he was free, he slipped out from under the furs and shot across the tiny clearing where they’d slept. His mail shirt jangled softly. Armor still on. Everything still on, thank Aslan. Except his sword, and his father’s and uncle’s, bundled in their wrap beside the furs.

Jaelyn stirred and opened her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“What are _you_ doing?” he demanded, more sternly than he had the right.

“I _was_ sleeping.” She started to sit up.

“Don’t!” Silas whirled away to face the trees.

Furs shifted. “Don’t what?”

The alarm in her voice piqued his caution enough to risk a look. She had all her clothes, even that flimsy cloak. He let out a huge breath.

Her eyes went round, and a high flush washed across her cheeks. “You thought we ... ?” She jerked the furs up to her neck, and her stare went irate. “ _Why_ would you think that!”

Silas swallowed hard. Why? Because just now, as his muddled memory spun frantically back over the past evening, he remembered that last night, he almost hadn’t cared that he was bound to marry a dryad. He’d recalled it, and recalled his sense of honor, of course. The later it got last night, the harder she’d shivered, away from the crowd of the Old Narnians and the roaring bonfire. He’d taken a few furs and wrapped them around her, and laid close beside her until she stopped shaking with the cold. One kiss was as far as it had gone. Where else _could_ it go? He didn’t belong here, and she was a human, and they were leagues— _centuries!_ —away from a marriage to one another. He stood there like a fool, like a tree dug deep into the earth.

Jaelyn pulled the furs around her, as if all her clothing still wasn’t enough to separate them. The flush remained on her cheeks. She scraped another fur toward her.

He sighed and started toward her. “Jaelyn, I’m sorry. It was dishonorable of me to—”

“You kept me from freezing,” she said, too fast, still not looking at him.

“I wasn’t talking about ... this,” he said, encompassing the furs with a gesture. “It would have been boorish of me _not_ to see to your comfort.” Except, he thought, that sometime during the night he’d gone from lying beside her to having his arm curled around her. A sensation not at all unpleasant. He shook the memory off and forced out the rest of his words. “I was speaking of kissing you.”

Her gaze snapped to his again, all attention, but that blush crept redder across her cheeks. He almost smiled. She had a poor face for deception.

“So you’re sorry for it?” she asked, hurt in her voice.

Her tone worked on him like the twang of a bowstring. He almost ducked, and when he caught himself, he gave another rueful sigh. Females were, invariably, more hazardous than battle. He pushed to his feet again. “Nothing I say is going to be right,” he told her.

“How is a kiss dishonorable?”

He hitched his still-aching shoulder and scowled. “It’s dishonorable when everyone saw us, and there are no intentions of a contract behind it,” he growled. Seeing the hurt on her face, he added, much softer, “Where I come from, such things aren’t given lightly.”

“They aren’t given lightly _here_ , either,” she snapped. Her gaze fell away again. Quietly, she said, “I wouldn’t have ... just anybody.”

Oh, Aslan. There would be no help for him. If he opened his mouth again, he might as well have someone bash the words back down his throat for all the good it would do. He was so much better at patrolling Selbaran for enemies than ... than ... well, than _this_. He drew a long breath, preparing to speak as if he were readying himself to run a gauntlet. “I’m a soldier,” he said at last. “I don’t have a scribe’s gift for words. All I can say is—”

“Ah, so there’s the warrior prince!” said a gravelly voice.

Into the little clearing came Prince Caspian. Beside him walked a man with spectacles, curling grey hair, and a well-rounded belly. Silas guessed it was he who had spoken.

Caspian grinned, first at Silas, and then his companion. “Didn’t I tell you? He even looks like the old paintings of King Edmund! I mistook him for such, at first.”

The other man came forward. The instant he drew close, Silas smelled dwarf blood, mixed with human. The old man extended both hands. “Gladly met, Your Highness, gladly met.”

Silas clasped the man’s hands, and the stranger gave him a respectful bow. It was clear his old joints were stiff and paining him, so Silas urged him back upright with a quick gesture. “Well met, yourself, sir ... ?”

A grin creased his wrinkled face. “Doctor Cornelius at your most humble service, my lord.”

Jaelyn shot up from the furs with round eyes. “Doctor Cornelius!”

The old doctor turned to her, his bushy eyebrows aloft. “Yes?”

Frantically, Jaelyn scrambled through her pack, lying beside the furs. Out came a little book. She handed it to the doctor, and even from where he stood, Silas saw that her hands shook a little. The look of relief on her face as she handed it over raised his suspicions.

The old man opened the book, and his brows went up even higher. “Where did you find this, my dear?”

“There was a note with it,” she said, “from my master Rune. Anvard’s master scribe.”

“Yes, yes,” the doctor muttered, examining the little book. “Where is it?”

“I lost it,” she added. “I’m sorry, sir. My master said that you would know what to do with this book, but it was all the help he could provide.”

As she spoke, Silas scowled darker and darker. Caspian looked over the doctor’s shoulder as the old man turned the book’s pages with gentle fingers. At the next page, all three paused to stare from it to him.

“Perhaps the magic chose rightly,” said Cornelius.

“ _What_ are you talking about?” Silas demanded.

“The horn of Queen Susan was believed to possess the power to summon the Kings and Queens of Old, Your Highness,” Cornelius explained. “Your father and his siblings. Instead, it chose someone able to awaken tree spirits who have slept for over a thousand years.”

“You were trying to summon _my father_?” Silas demanded angrily. Enraged, he stalked toward them. “He and my mother are soulbound. They would die if separated! How dare you trifle with our lives?”

Cornelius’s eyebrows shot up so far, they were lost in his bushy grey forelock. Caspian looked horrified. For a few seconds, the young man only stared at him, but he shook out of it. He withdrew a small, wrapped object from his coat and handed it over.

Silas took it, and not gently. Even before he unwrapped it from its cloth, he knew that it was his aunt’s horn. He thumbed the lion-face carving. With his voice hard and shaking, he glared in Caspian’s eyes and said, “Did you think it nothing to tear someone out of their own world, their own time, to come to you like a trained dog? Even now, my home—my family’s home—may be in danger, and you have sacrificed it to your own ends.”

“We have done you a great disservice, my lord. It is my fault for suggesting the use of the horn.” Cornelius bowed low. “If my small knowledge of magic may be of any use to you, I vow that I will find a way to send you home.”

Silas gave the old man a curt word of thanks. To Caspian, still white-faced, he gave a disgruntled stare.

But Jaelyn, when he turned to her, had her hands over her mouth and tears in her eyes as though it was she who had sentenced him to this exile. Two, three, maybe ten motionless seconds passed while they stared across the clearing at one another. Then she snatched up her pack and fled into the trees.


	11. Lost

_Cair Paravel, Narnia  
Spring 1030 _

Edmund sat in his seat in Council, on the Western compass point at Susan’s left. They were hearing a Stag’s account of infighting among the herds over the best spring forage. One stubborn faction of the herds had begun making forays into the mountains of Telmar—an unannounced breach of border which King Caspian would not accept with levity. The two nations were amiable now, but even something this small might touch off a larger dispute if left unchecked.

The Stag in the center of the floor stood stiff, with his shoulders hunched and his ears flattened to his skull. Every few words, he stamped a hoof, and his remarks grew more and more furious. It was plain enough, even without the body language, that the Stag was embellishing the actual account. Ed passed Susan a discreetly impatient look, and the corner of her mouth turned almost imperceptibly upward in response. “Master Stag,” she said, so sweetly that no one could have taken it for an interruption, “we thank you for bringing us your concerns. We have heard the opposing viewpoint from the other representative of your herds, and now your own evidence.”

She said “evidence”—along with the royal “We”—with a smoothness Ed had to admire. He stifled a grin.

“To assure ourselves of the most complete picture before issuing our decree,” Susan added, “we shall now require statements from other residents of the Western Wood. It is our wish that you return to the border of Telmar. Please advise the guard stationed there that we shall not trespass further upon their hospitality until an agreement thereupon has been reached.”

The Stag puffed up with importance—forgetting, clearly, that it was he and his faction who’d been doing the actual trespassing. “At once, Your Majesty,” he said with a grandiose bow, and then he left the Council chamber.

When they finished hearing the rest of the dispute, Susan and Ed left the chamber. “Nicely handled,” Ed said with the grin now freely spread across his face. “I like when you’re in session with me. I barely have to speak.”

“Best you didn’t,” Susan agreed. “The last thing that issue needed was more male opinions.”

Ed clapped a hand over his chest. “Wounded, Su. _Wounded._ ” A second later, he stopped grinning. “Asha’s upset.”

They walked faster, and came finally upon the wing where the royal family took their private meals. A satyr opened the dining room door for them as they approached, then bowed out as they passed inside.

“ _There_ you are,” Asha said, standing up from her seat at the table.

A quick scan of the room revealed Lucy, Van, and Aurora seated nearby. Ed started to smile in greeting ... until he saw what sat on the table.

The mirrored bowl rested between Lucy’s hands on the polished oak surface. The edge of the bowl bore a crack that nearly ran to the bottom. The red soot that should have been in it was missing.

His smile now completely gone, Ed strode to the table. “What happened? Where’s Silas?”

Rory leaped up from her seat with tears in her eyes. “Maddoken didn’t break it, Uncle Ed, he swears he didn’t!”

Asha laid a hand on Ed’s arm. A comfort, and a warning. Susan lowered herself into a chair on his far side. Ed sat down, and gentled the hard edge in his voice with effort. “Tell me.”

“We set upon a troop of orcs passing as Calormene, but Rory said she’d trailed them from Cair,” Van told him. Even Van, who normally settled into hazards as comfortably as he wore his leather coat, sounded concerned. “Thing is, Cap’n,” he added, reaching into a pouch at his belt, “they were carrying this.”

The use of the old nickname raised the hairs on the back of Ed’s neck. He reached for the thing Van set on the table: a wooden box. He had barely opened it before a familiar whiff drifted out of the container. Asha stiffened beside him, mirroring his shock. “What were they doing with Silas’s hair?” Ed asked, dangerously soft.

“I have a few of my Haggish contacts looking into it,” Van said. His gaze shifted to Lucy, as if he weren’t certain how much more to say.

“And Saris?” Susan asked.

“Already talking to the Jinn he can trust in Calormen,” added Lucy.

The door opened, and Saris entered. He took one look at the assembly of worried faces and the items on the table, and correctly deduced where Edmund’s suspicions were heading. “It was used for a spell,” he confirmed, nodding toward the bowl. “An old one.” He angled his head toward Van. “A Haggish one.”

Van gave a short, stern nod in response, then rose from the table. “I’d better get in touch with the Rattens. Sooner, rather than later. Madd can fly me there.”

 _“Where is my son?”_ Edmund demanded, shifting a look between Saris and the broken bowl.

“A Jinn can travel through time as easily as he enters a room,” Saris explained. “Anyone else who attempts it without the most powerful magic available, risks destroying himself and the tools he uses to cast the spell. The question, brother—and I will try with every skill I have to find you an answer—is not _where_ is your son, but _when_.”

\- # -

_Dancing Lawn, Narnia_   
_2303_

_What have I done?_ Jaelyn thought over and over as she ran and stumbled and ran again through the trees—southward, she hoped. The miserable litany of guilt played repeatedly through her head. She had just ruined a man’s life—a very _good_ man, and from what she could tell, a very _good_ life—with her blind floundering through a book she had no business reading. Served her right for her nosiness in the first place.

“Please, please, send him home,” she begged to no one in particular. “If I could do it, I would. I’ll never pick up a book again.”

“That would be a great loss to Archenland’s library,” said Silas behind her.

She spun to face him, and the corner of her robes caught on a spur of broken tree stump. She tugged at it, then tugged harder, and heard the fabric tear.

Silas came forward and gently lifted the snagged cloth from the spike of wood. “I’m sorry I lost my temper,” he said. “It was uncouth.”

“It was justified,” she snapped, furious with herself, and more furious that he could look so contrite, as if he’d done _her_ the injury.

“That may be, but harsh words won’t solve the problem.” His dark eyes passed over her face, slowly, thoroughly. “Especially when the party at fault didn’t know what it was doing.” His statement ended on an up-note, almost a question. A prompt for her to explain herself.

A rush of tears stung her eyes. She dropped onto the fallen trunk beside the stump. “I did this,” she confessed in a helpless whisper. She pushed her hands into the messy hair of her forelock.

Silas sat beside her. “How could you have? Caspian had the horn.”

“There was a loose page in that book. A poem, I thought ... but it must have been a spell. I read it aloud.” Her breath hitched, and suddenly, the words got away from her and were off on a stampede. “I’m sorry, Silas, I swear I didn’t know! It was stupid, and irresponsible, and reckless. I’d never seen magic. If I’d known, I would have kept my blabbering mouth—”

“I rather like it when you blabber,” he said with a grin in his voice.

She stopped her tirade of self-recrimination to stare at him, a prince out of his time, who had every right to look down his nose at a bumbling scribe who’d barely ever left Anvard.

He wasn’t looking down his nose at all ... but straight into her eyes, with an upward tilt to his mouth that brought out an all-too-intriguing hint of dimples. At first casual, the look stretched out longer and longer. Jaelyn couldn’t look away, and for one mystifying second, it seemed he couldn’t, either.

But then he was on his feet, picking up her pack from where she’d dropped it beside the log. “Come back to camp,” he said gruffly, half an order and half persuasive. “We’ll see what’s to be done about getting us both back to our proper places.” He stalked away into the trees before she’d even risen to her feet.


	12. A History in Stone

He had no business encouraging her. Silas walked fast, purposely forcing her to hurry in order to follow him.

Servant. Commoner. Outlander, both of time and place.

Human.

Nothing he told himself erased the way her rumpled hair and frustrated gibbering had made him smile. Aslan only knew how the girl had survived in the world until now, without a full regiment of soldiers to protect her from her own foolishness.

Foolish, yes. Careless. Awkward.

But endearing. And gritty. She’d carried his father’s shield all the way to Dancing Lawn without once uttering a complaint. She’d had the nerve to bark a refusal at him when he suggested he take the burden.

His captains back home didn’t even have such nerve.

And now, she was crashing doggedly through the woods along what ought to be a perfectly clear trail in pursuit of him. Miraz’s troops probably heard her all the way from Starshold. “Give me back my pack,” she called ferociously. “I’ve done my duty, and now I must go home to Anvard.”

He paused, prodding his irritation with himself into anger with her. “And what do you think will soon be left of it, if Miraz’s men are moving toward it as you say?”

She stumbled out onto the proper trail with twigs and pine leaves sticking to the hem of her robes. “Don’t talk like that!”

He gave a foreign-feeling sneer of contempt. “You forget your place, Jaelyn.”

She jerked back as if stung. Her face flushed red, and even in his put-on haughtiness, he found himself studying the way the rosy color blossomed along her cheekbones. Not wanting her to see the way he lingered on her features, he growled softly and began walking once more.

“Don’t you have any interest in what’s happening to Narnia? To the free countries neighboring it?” she called.

He remained silent.

“I may be a lowly scribe, _Your Highness_ , but I intend to use what skill I have to defend my home. What will _you_ do while we battle for our liberty?”

He flung himself around again, so fast she bumped into him. He shot forward a step, into her face. “I will go home and fix whatever you did to cause this mess!” he roared.

A flock of birds burst into the sky nearby.

Jaelyn flinched, but stood her ground, trembling and still flushed. Her throat worked as if she were struggling to swallow, and he caught a hint of tears in her eyes. She blinked fiercely to stall them before they could fall. “Give me back my pack, please,” she said in a shaky voice.

He drew a long sigh. What was it about her that provoked his temper so? It was beneath him to be reduced to such bickering with anyone, and yet he couldn’t keep from trading barbs with her even minutes after he’d apologized for doing so. For the love of larches, he shouldn’t _have_ to apologize. Turning back toward camp, he began walking again, faster and faster, until he was many steps ahead of her. “You were a nuisance the moment I came upon you on the forest floor.”

“And you have been one to me ever since! Blasted, self-absorbed, blinded ... _Why_ do you keep walking? Drop my pack!”

He flung it down and shifted into leaves to whoosh toward her. Shifting back to human, he glared into her face with the tip of his nose almost touching hers. “Don’t you for one instant think you can order me around.”

“You are not my prince. You run hot and cold again like a spitting kettle dropped in a well. You talk of honor, but you’re so consumed by your own aim to return home that you don’t care what’s happening to the people here and now. I have a home, too. And I want my loved ones safe, too.”

He froze, shocked into silence. Did she have someone at home, waiting for her?

They stood like that a few seconds. The fiery look left her eyes, but her cheeks grew redder, as if she’d realized where his thoughts had gone. Her chin trembled even as her lips firmed into a determined line.

For the first time, he truly considered what a trial this must have been for her. A scribe, unfamiliar with anything outside her library, tossed with almost no instructions into the wilderness. A wilderness full of magic, both good and evil, of which she knew nothing. He thought of the Wakesong. Had he begun something he would not be here to finish?

Humbled, he lowered his head. “You are right. Forgive me.” He stepped away from her, wary of what he might do if he didn’t, this near to her where he could still smell the ink and parchment on her skin. Stretching an arm out along the trail—clearly visible from this point, even for her—he allowed her to pass by.

She hesitated, with equal wariness in her eyes, but passed him by to stalk proudly ahead of him back up the trail.

\- # - 

Caspian had gathered around him some very strange creatures, Jaelyn decided. Centaurs, satyrs, fauns, and all manner of beasts who could speak. Not to mention, minotaurs that terrified her.

“There you are,” said the Telmarine prince as she and Silas emerged from the wood into a clearing on a roundish, grassy hillock. “We feared you had taken your leave, Your Highness,” he added to Silas. Even at her distance, Jaelyn noticed the apologetic look in Caspian’s eyes.

“Not as yet,” Silas responded. He stopped before Caspian, completely unafraid of the multitude of creatures crowded onto the hill around them. “I have my own time, Caspian, and it is not here ... but I may well be able to turn the tide in your favor.” He gave the startled Telmarine prince a respectful bow. “I place my skills at your service.”

Caspian appeared to stutter a moment—very un-princelike—before stepping forward and lowering his voice to a murmur. “Your Highness, I am not certain it is _my_ place to be demanding _your_ skills.”

“Any man may be put in his place, Caspian,” Silas responded. He gave Jaelyn a brief look that confused her before adding, “Including me.” Before she could question it, he’d continued speaking to Prince Caspian. “As for _your_ place, I believe it must be my job to put you in it. The throne of Narnia— _this_ Narnia—is rightfully yours, and not mine.” He held out his hand.

Caspian studied him for a moment, looking uncomfortable with such a transfer of leadership. But a few seconds later, he shook Silas’s hand, and Jaelyn glimpsed both the young prince’s acceptance of his mantle, and a flash of the future Narnia might have under this would-be Narnian king. 

\- #-

All morning, they debated what must be done about Miraz. It was eventually decided that no matter what their later plans, they must find a gathering place more defensible than the forest, where the Telmarines, once emboldened enough, might approach them from any or all sides.

“I know such a place,” Caspian said. And he brought them, on a long, tiring march, to the most curious place Jaelyn had yet seen in this curious land: an enormous, grassy mound rising into the cloudy blue sky. The mere sight of it sent the whole company into a hush, and Jaelyn soon found out why.

Inside was a maze of tunnels and caverns, almost a temple. The rock was covered with illustrations, from primitive paintings to the most beautiful sculptures she’d ever seen. Some of the creatures carved into the stone were similar to those now walking through this hallowed place, for hallowed it was.

Aslan’s How, they called it. If ever Jaelyn had needed proof of the Narnian stories of old, here it was. As she walked, studying the pictures in awe under the dim torchlight, she saw, over and over, the image of a lion. And then, to her shock, she noticed a painting of two men and two women, all with crowned heads and standing before four identical thrones.

“My father, and his brother and sisters,” Silas confirmed, studying the paintings with a thoughtful look.

Jaelyn saw, under the illustrations, a line of symbols painted on the rock. Her eyes shot wide. “Wait!” She snatched a torch from a surprised dwarf walking past them. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she blurted. “Here, let me just ... I can’t ... Hold this!” She shoved the torch at Silas, and they were forced to press back against the wall to allow a line of soldiers to pass them.

Caspian paused beside them with a question in his eyes. “Go on,” Silas told him. “We’ll follow shortly.”

The stream of troops trickled past, and finally she and Silas were alone in the narrow hall. Jaelyn ran her fingers along the line of symbols. “Reign ... no, king ... no. _Kings._ And this must be _queens_.”

“Can you read this?” Silas asked.

“Of course. I mean, it’s old. Very, very old, hardly any of it at all even in the oldest texts in Anvard’s library. Can’t you read it? Of course not. It may not even have been in use in your time. After you, perhaps, and still far before me. What an odd dialect they use.” And she was off, trailing her fingers along the line of inscriptions and down the hall. “The Kings and Queens of Narnia’s Golden Age. Golden Age, that’s what you said it was when they took the thrones! Isn’t it?”

“Yes. And then, after the Battle of Cair Bay, the Age of Light. My time,” Silas said, jogging after her and holding the torch up so she could see.

“It’s all here!” she cried, her voice echoing as she followed the trail of words along the hall. “A magical door into our world ... an unending winter ... a great war ... and a lion. No, _The_ Lion, they say, just like _you_ said. Everything we could want to know. Everything my master never told me!” She stopped abruptly, and Silas bumped against her. “ _Why_ didn’t he tell me?” she wondered. Quieter, hurt now, she added, “What harm would it have done me to know all of this existed?”

“Maybe he simply wanted to protect you,” Silas said behind her.

She became acutely aware of Silas’s warmth at her back, and the corresponding warmth that crept into her cheeks. She darted off again down the hall, tracing the words. “Yes,” she said, distracted now. “Yes. A great war at the end of the Golden Age, with many countries fighting, even my own. And a ... Was there a _dragon_?” She stopped short of touching the painting of a winged, reptilian beast over the words.

Silas grinned, his features gilded in the torchlight. “That may be Maddoken.”

“Did you fight?”

“Of course I did,” he said, sounding a little affronted. “I protected Selbaran, as is my duty.”

She turned back to the inscriptions. “And when Narnia won the war, there was a period of peace and great learning. Towns grew up and made progress.” She followed the words into another, smaller cavern, far down the hall and away from the bustle of Caspian’s troops. Here, the words covered the rock from floor to ceiling. “Oh, my. This is going to take time.”

“Take it, then,” Silas said, holding the torch higher.

She read as much as she could understand, and the story of a country took shape. Telmar and Narnia had been allies for many years. Narnia welcomed men from that country, and the world prospered.

But something changed. “There was a falling-out,” she said. “The son of Telmar’s son,” she murmured. “I don’t understand.”

“It is a way to address the members of a royal family,” Silas explained. “Much in fashion in my time. I am a servant of my country. Tied to it by my own blood as well as royal lineage ... so I am called a son of Selbaran.” He came closer. “They must mean Caspian the Second, the son of King Caspian the First, of Telmar.”

Jaelyn gestured back to the doorway of the little cavern. “Should we call ... ?”

“Not yet. Keep reading.” An urgent look came into Silas’s eyes.

She sped through the inscriptions. “He believed that because of his fully-human heritage, he had a right to challenge the royal line of Narnia. None of her heirs possessed fully human blood.” She glanced at Silas.

“We don’t. Half-dryad. Half-werewolf. Part-hag ...” Silas scowled, as if something more than the turn of historical events were bothering him.

“In secret, the second Caspian gathered together a group of like-minded followers, and marched on ... on the castle of the F-Four Thrones.” Jaelyn’s heart thumped loudly, so loudly she was sure Silas heard it.

“Go on,” Silas ordered, clearly trying to read the words himself, but making little sense of them.

“Cair was unprepared for attack. Caspian’s army appeared before them, and in a matter of hours, the castle was ... Silas, are you sure?”

“Tell me!” he snapped.

“It was razed to the ground.”

Silas paled, even in the torchlight. “ _Hours._ How could this happen?” he whispered, and she could tell how shaken he was by the tremor in his voice.

“They had help. The Calormenes, I think. It mentions his ally to the desert south. And ... something else, I can’t read it. Silas, I’m sorry,” she said tearfully, touching a chipped line of text over a row of what appeared to be tiny blue flamelets. The row repeated, swarming over the rock and almost engulfing the rest of the text.

Silas lunged toward the rock with the torch, throwing what was left of the words into sharp relief. His eyes gleamed with angst, so clear and so bright that even across the centuries, Jaelyn could feel the love he and his family had held for one another. His breath trembled, and his moss-green eyes sped over the words on the wall. She saw the moment he left off, frustrated, from the text, and turned his attention to the images.

A choked sound emerged from his throat, and he pounded a fist against the tiny blue shapes. Dark blood oozed from his knuckles and smeared the stone. “Jinn,” he whispered.

“What’s a Jinn?”

Silas took a deep breath. “Magical beings, born of flame. Adepts of spellwork. Bound to do the bidding of their masters. I can think of only one Calormene who will have spent the years of Narnia’s peace amassing such a multitude of slave-warriors.” He pushed the torch into Jaelyn’s hands and rubbed his face as if he were much older and desperately weary. “Rabadash, the Tisroc of Calormen. Not such a Peacemaker, after all.”


	13. Wolf Trap

_Beruna, Narnia  
Spring 1030 _

Raucous laughter filled the tavern room at the Shield and Spear. Men and Narnians alike pounded their mugs against the table, to the beat of one of several impolite songs Aedan Pevensie had heard often during his years of training. He grinned at a pretty barmaid. She giggled in return and set a fresh tankard of ale before him. “On the house, handsome,” she said with a flirty smile.

Though he boasted only ten summers, he had the physique of a young man, tall and broad and used to the work of a soldier ... and it had not gone unnoticed by any of the ladies he had ever met. Which, he thought with another grin, came in handy when one was short of significant funds and long on thirst. He lifted the tankard toward the barmaid in a jaunty salute. She blushed and bobbed him a curtsy before hurrying back to her duties.

 _Hmm,_ he thought. _A bit short on attention from the fairer sort, too._ He thought about chasing down the barmaid and spending a pleasant few minutes making her neglect her work.

But a bit of conversation reached his half-Were ears. “Hush, you rum-soaked buffoon.”

Aedan lifted the tankard and paused as if contemplating its contents. He didn’t turn toward the conversation, but he flared his nostrils and turned half his attention to the voices behind him. Two voices, quieter now, and human owners, if his sense of smell was right. The air in here was capricious and stuffy, but each time the door behind him opened, a draft carried that distinctive scent to him from behind his back.

Not folk of Aedan’s troops, then. Must have come from one of the towns farther up the river. He was suddenly glad of the lightweight cloak that hid his armor, which would have identified him in an instant at least as a high-ranking officer, if not the crown prince of Narnia himself.

“When are we to go?” asked the first man.

A third voice spoke, smooth and cultured, and the half-wolf in Aedan flattened its ears in uneasiness. “The next darkmoon,” the voice said. “You need carry nothing with you. All will be provided.”

“What if he ... ?” began the second voice.

“You’ll shut that mouth, or have it sewn shut,” said the first man.

The barmaid sauntered by with her tray. “Sweetheart,” Aedan said, spinning around on his bench and grabbing for her skirt, “I don’t like to criticize, but there’s quite a bit of water in this ale.”

The girl blushed fiercely, and Aedan almost felt repentant for the lie. “I’m so sorry, my lord. I’ll get another.”

Aedan softened his complaint with a wink. “Hurry back, love, and I’ll own up to this one with a few coppers and a kiss.”

As she rushed off in a flutter of skirts and yellow curls, Aedan used his new vantage point to scan the room near the door. He sucked in a breath that might have looked like a self-indulgent sigh to anyone else, but actually fed him more information about the people at the bench across the room.

He’d smelled right: humans, although the third, the smooth-talking one, had a scent somehow not quite like the others. A half-breed, like him, perhaps? His acquaintances who were more sensitive to such things occasionally told him that even in his human form, Aedan didn’t smell quite like his fully-human father. There was an undertone, they told him, that gave away his mingled heritage.

Another sniff, more furtive. He definitely didn’t like their suspicious posture. He’d have to have them followed, just to be sure they caused no trouble. Beruna was a way station for passing travelers of all sorts. Friction ran high now and then between contentious species, and it would be best for this group to be well on their way before nightfall.

Or perhaps it might be best to _be_ followed. Then, at least, he could assure himself where they were going. No harm then if he led them straight to his commander at the garrison.

The barmaid returned. “Sorry, love, I won’t be drinking that,” he said as he stood. He grinned a last time and handed her a few extra coins, as well as a kiss on the cheek. “For your trouble. Pass the ale, plus a couple more, to my unsociable friends at the bench, there.”

She beamed, and Aedan rose to go to the door. As he approached, he and the smooth talker locked gazes. Aedan didn’t like what he saw at all, but he stepped casually outside.

Out on the forest road, as he headed toward the garrison, he studied the trees. No dryads or naiads here at Beruna anymore. They disliked the bustle of the town, and had retreated deeper into the woods. He couldn’t blame them. Beruna was an active center of commerce now, but the wild-blooded Narnians normally didn’t care for too much settlement. If they did wish to be among a population, they would go to the port town at Cair, where there were more Narnian creatures than men.

He walked along at a leisurely pace. His commander had allowed him a day’s leave to carry on some business in town, but he was due back by nightfall.

Soft footfalls sounded on the trail behind him. Well, he hoped old Nalis wouldn’t mind some visitors.

His followers stayed well back, so Aedan found no reason to hurry. He turned off the main thoroughfare onto the garrison’s side road, and could just see the crenellations on the garrison tower (and the red flag with its rampant lion) over the tops of the trees.

Now to convince his company to stroll right through the gates with him. Aedan smiled and turned around.

His grin died on his face. A step behind him floated a Jinn. It spoke not a word, but lifted a shining green chain and looped it quickly over Aedan’s head before Aedan even had a chance to react.

The chain drew tight, as if of its own accord, like a collar drawn snug around the neck of a beast. And then it began to burn.

Aedan snarled, and the wolf in him snarled also. Clawing uselessly at the chain, he lifted a furious gaze to the Jinn. His werewolf nose told him this was the smooth-tongued creature that he’d seen back at the inn.

“I knew it was him, Cas, I knew it,” said one of the other men—the one who’d been told to shut up. “Who’d have thought it, eh? Who ever heard of a _good_ werewolf?”

“Be still,” the Jinn said calmly.

And Aedan couldn’t move.

Then the third stranger came up to Aedan, who stood frozen to the spot with his hands on the chain, powerless to do anything but stare in alarm at these men and their Jinn. The stranger lifted a hood back from his head, revealing dark eyes and hair and features much like those of Caspian of Telmar.

But much more sinister. His gaze passed over Aedan’s face in lazy perusal, and he smiled, full of cruelty. “Well? Now he’s _our_ werewolf.”


	14. Soldiers and Spellcasters

_Aslan’s How, Narnia_   
_2303_

Silas was unused to feeling so powerless. He paced in the cavern while his mind raced four steps ahead to possible ways home. Only three had any merit ... but he had no means to call forth his uncle Saris or cousin Danae to shepherd him home. And as for Aslan himself, no one had seen him since the Battle of Cair Bay.

He was trapped here, while his own Narnia suffered and crumbled to ruins.

Choking on frustrated fury, he glared up at the etched ceiling of the cavern, where an enormous lion had been carved in relief, charging across the rock. “ _Where_ were you?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you go to them? They needed you!”

Beside him, Jaelyn glanced upward, then gave him an infuriatingly sorrowful look. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do, and there’s nothing _I_ can do. I’m stuck here ... and I should have been back there, sharing their fate!”

“But weren’t you in Selbaran? How do you know the same would have happened as at Cair?” Jaelyn asked.

“I _don’t_ know, and now I never will,” he said bitterly.

She approached him slowly, with her eyes not on him but on the carved lion overhead. Finally, she met his gaze. “Silas, what if your Aslan meant for you to be here?”

“What if you just want that to be the case?”

She blushed, noticeable even in the firelight. “I’m not absolving myself from my part in this,” she said. She touched his arm. “But look what you’ve already done here. You’ve wakened the dryads. You’ve given a people in hiding some hope for their freedom. Your knowledge may lead them to victory. You couldn’t have done this, if you’d been closed off in your own time and with your own people.”

He brought his gaze up to study her, a tousle-haired girl who’d left home on a goose chase, merely for the love of her master. “How did you get to be so smart?”

She grinned. “I read a lot.”

He smiled back, but then his humor faded. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps his fault was that he’d always half-expected to seal himself off in Selbaran, after the turmoil of the Great War. The disbanding of his family across the world, and the death of many of his friends and allies, had come as terrible blows. He’d meant to focus on his inherited kingdom, to rebuild its inner strength and the community of dryads that still made up its major populace—but was that merely an excuse? Ignoring the conflicts of the outside world would not make them disappear.

Look what those conflicts had done to Cair. To his family.

And now, he’d been thrust into another looming war, one not even his own. More death. More loss.

But a chance to prove the honor he held so dear.

He stood straighter and frowned at his bloody knuckles. Reddish blood, not green as his mother’s was. Another reminder that his future mate must be a dryad, and a dryad only.

Jaelyn shrank back. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

“No.” He closed the distance and took her hand. Bowing formally over it, he pressed his lips to her own ink-stained knuckles. The scent of her filled his senses, distracting him for a moment. He pushed the reaction away and straightened once more. “You spoke rightly, and I thank you for that. I must find Caspian.”

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but he quickly stretched out his arm toward the cavern entrance, indicating that she lead the way to the rest of the How. Words would only give him a reason to linger here with her. He could ill afford such a lapse.

As she passed him, the scent of her drifted under his nose again. And for the life of him, Silas couldn’t recall the woodsy smell of a dryad ever stirring him up the way her dust-and-ink scent did.

\- # -

“We must attack Starshold tonight, then. There is no other option,” said Caspian the Tenth in the Table Room of the How. The makeshift War Council shuffled and murmured.

“That’s madness,” Silas responded. “You would be throwing away the lives of your soldiers, as well as your own.”

“How else do you propose we end this?” Caspian snapped. “If we can capture Starshold by surprise, we will have taken a position more defensible even than this, and the throne of Narnia to boot. What other chance will we have, when Miraz’s main force is away from the castle?”

“Caspian,” Silas said, “your future as ruler of these people depends entirely on how you handle this conflict. Think with your head, not your muscle, or you’ll only present yourself as another Miraz to the very people you’re to lead.”

Caspian’s face went white even in the dim light of the Table Room. His fist clenched. The Narnians all began talking at once.

Silas held out his hands for silence, and after a few minutes, they settled. With his gaze still on Caspian, Silas said, “You are the rightful monarch. Everyone knows that. But they will as easily accept the present contender as you, if you give them no reason to believe your rule will be the wiser.”

At last, the Telmarine prince calmed. “What would you propose?”

“If we can goad him into single combat, it may spare both sides unnecessary bloodshed.”

“And if he refuses?”

“Then we prepare for the worst,” said Silas, feeling Jaelyn’s gaze on him. “And I will stand with you for it.” 

\- # -

_Cair Paravel, Narnia_   
_1030_

Aurora and Danae chased one another through the trees of the castle orchard, giggling. “Catch me if you can!” Danae cried, rushing for the door that led up to the great hall.

She made it to the top of the stairs and threw open the door, all the while hearing Rory’s footsteps hurrying after her.

But when she saw the grim faces of her father and uncles Edmund and Peter, she stopped short. “What’s wrong?”

Danae’s six-year-old twin brothers, Galen and Garrett, rushed to meet her. Galen grabbed at her skirts, while Garrett wrung a kerchief in his hands. “Cousin Silas is missing!” they shouted together.

“So’s Cousin Aedan,” Garrett whispered, big-eyed. His voice carried loudly enough to bring their mother hurrying toward them.

“All of you, back to your rooms,” said Susan. Even as a child not yet eight summers old, Danae saw the worry in her mother’s eyes. Susan shepherded the lot of them into a bunch and began to herd them toward the doors of the great hall.

Danae broke from the pack and hurried to her father. “Have you searched for them? Were they taken? Did they go on their own?”

Rory approached behind her. “Silas was taken. I didn’t know about Aedan.”

Danae whirled on her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was not her place,” Saris said. The boom of authority in his voice snuffed Danae’s temper at once. “And it is not yours to worry on it.”

“But Father, we can _do something_. I could use my magic—”

A quick, intense look passed between Danae’s parents. “It is not yours to play in magics you do not yet understand, Danae,” Saris said firmly. “I forbade it, and you must mind that.”

Frustrated, Danae clenched and unclenched her fists, staring mutely and fiercely at her feet.

“Danae?”

The concern underneath her father’s stern tone unraveled some of her irritation. “I hear you, Father.”

“And you will mind me on this? No magic.”

“I will not play in magics I do not understand, Father.” After a few seconds, she lifted her gaze to her father’s and held her breath.

He seemed about to say something else, but Uncle Edmund interrupted the exchange with a request that they continue their discussion in the state room.

“All right, then,” said Susan. “Danae. Boys. To your rooms. We’ll talk more at supper.”

Galen and Garrett shuffled to the doors without another comment. A wizened old Goat joined them, presumably to lead them to their rooms. But Danae took Rory’s hand and hurried along past them all.

“What are you doing?” Rory asked, once they’d left the great hall and made for the grand staircase.

“If there’s one thing a Jinn does well, it’s to answer a command exactly ... and then find a way around it,” Danae murmured. “I’m going to find our cousins.”

They rushed up the staircase, then turned left. “How?” Rory panted. “Uncle Saris just said not to do magic you don’t understand.”

With her heart stamping furiously in excitement, Danae tugged Rory along to the library. “I don’t understand it _yet_.”


	15. The Emissary

_Aslan’s How, Narnia_   
_2303_

The moment Silas had said _single combat_ , Jaelyn ran out of the room to her small pile of belongings in another chamber, laid beside Silas’s own things. She flung furs aside until she found a small leather case, and carried it, breathless, back to the room where the council was once again arguing.

“Miraz has no honor,” Caspian was saying to Silas. “We cannot afford to send you to him under a flag of parley, only to have him deliver us back your head!”

“I have no fear of his lack of honor,” Silas said. “You’ve told me yourself, he’s terrified of magic, and I’m that, if nothing else. If anyone cannot afford to act rashly, it’s he.”

“And if you’re killed, what then? Who’s to lead the dryads?” demanded Caspian. “What if they go back to their slumber? Even if you succeed, he’ll only pick a champion, and not come, himself. No loss to him.”

“The more tyrannical the man, the greater his weaknesses,” Silas said. “I will play on his fears, and you must prick his pride.”

“How?”

“I will do it,” Jaelyn said. She opened her leather case, and pulled out its contents—parchment, quills, ink pots, knife, sand—to spread them on the broken table in the center of the chamber.

The entire company fell into a hush, staring at her. She blushed fiercely, embarrassed at their sudden attention and horrified faces, without knowing why.

“Jaelyn,” Silas said gently, “that Table is sacred.”

She looked again at the broken platform, and saw worn runes etched around its perimeter. None of the creatures in the room had sat on, or near, the table. Even Silas, who stood closest, remained at a respectful distance.

A Bear began to approach her, pushing aside others with a forceful snarl. Jaelyn shrank back.

Silas flashed apart into a cloud of leaves, prompting a collective gasp, then rushed between Jaelyn and the bear to resolidify into human form. The great Beast halted in midstep, and Silas said, “She is an Archenlander, Master Bear. She doesn’t know the Table’s significance.”

The Bear tossed a disgruntled look over Silas’s shoulder at Jaelyn, who fisted her hands at her sides in a futile attempt to stop trembling. When he looked back at Silas, the Bear said, in a voice no less frightening, “What’s an Archenlander doing here among Old Narnians?”

Silas grinned. “And I am a Narnian older yet, no?” His smile faded, and he gestured to Caspian and Doctor Cornelius. “And they, Telmarines, by dint of the court whence they came. Let us focus not on origins, but enemies.” Standing straighter, he added, “As to that, the Bears have always been among our ranks when we set out under a flag of parley. We could use a Good Beast of your intimidating demeanor.”

The Bear looked mollified, and settled back into the gathered group to gnaw at his paw while the rest of them discussed terms.

Jaelyn relaxed a little, and began to scrape together her writing tools with shaking fingers.

“Leave them,” Silas said, loud enough for all to hear. “I have met Aslan, and I am certain he wouldn’t begrudge us the Table as a place to plan the defense of his kingdom.” Then, as if they weren’t all standing around, staring at him, he sat beside her on the edge of the Table. “What do you plan to do, Jaelyn?”

The confidence and encouragement in his voice thawed her nerves. She remained standing. Silas might sit— _he_ had met Aslan—but she was an outlander scribe, untrusted, with no ties to Narnia.

Except Silas.

She fisted her hands, still trying to stop their shaking. “My writing is good ... when I work at it,” she said, with a rueful mental thanks to Rune for being such a curmudgeon about her improvement. “The k-king— Sometimes he would have me write letters of state for him. I ... I’m good with words. I can do this.”

“I believe you,” he said softly. His green eyes glowed in the firelight flickering about the room.

Jaelyn forgot the other Narnians. Nothing else existed but that kind, sorrowful, something-else-not-safe-to-define look in his eyes. Captivated, she leaned toward him. “What’s wrong?” she murmured.

Stupid. The moment she spoke, the look vanished, and he was all business. He stood. “Tell him that Caspian has no doubt of the strength and number of his army. That we’ve seen it. Tell him that Caspian wishes to prevent needless bloodshed in the face of such odds, for he knows we will lose if it comes to war.”

At this, everyone gathered began shouting, except Caspian, who eyed Silas with a curious, calculating look, as if waiting for the catch.

Silas gave Caspian a brief grin, foxlike. “Tell him, Jaelyn, that Caspian asks mercy, Nephew to Uncle—make certain to capitalize that—and a chance to give his life in single combat, in place of the hundreds that must die if we fight.”

Caspian looked uncertain. “Silas ... Your Highness ...”

“He won’t be able to resist the chance to end your life with all of his enemies looking on,” Silas told Caspian. “His one chance to publicly prove his right to rule. He needs to think you cowardly and without hope. That you beg for his clemency. If there is one thing a tyrant cannot resist, it’s an easy target. He will come, himself, to fight you.”

Silas turned then to survey the rest of the Narnians, and now it seemed he was thinking out loud to himself. “I will be there to drive home the point of the less savory option, not to him, but to his captains, who will surely convince him that fighting you is preferable to fighting magical creatures they’ve feared all their lives. I will go, and the Bear ... and a giant, I think.”

Caspian approached. “You bank all on my ability to defeat him, a swordsman with decades of experience,” he whispered.

Silas grinned again. “I do. I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve, and I will teach them to you. I’m not my father’s son for nothing.”

\- # -

_Cair Paravel, Narnia_   
_1030_

“I’ve got it!” Danae cried.

Aurora jerked awake and groggily rubbed her cheek. The skin was creased from wrinkles of parchment. She’d fallen asleep on one of the old texts.

Uncle Edmund would kill her if he knew. Surreptitiously, she smoothed the wrinkles in the dusty text on some old Calormene magician. Havrastin the Great wasn’t so great that he’d offered up an answer before Rory fell asleep on page 328. Most of the words were beyond her, anyway, since she’d barely begun reading printed words, but Danae had told her what to look for. And it was definitely not in this book. “What do you have?”

“Well, I _think_ I’ve got it,” Danae said. “Some of these ingredients are impossible to find. A hair from the head of the missing party. That’s no problem, we’ve got that box of Silas’s hair, and Aslan knows Aedan’s got dust balls of old fur under his bed. He never lets anyone clean his old rooms. Werewolf hair’s got to be just as good as human hair, if they’re the same person. But the eye of a basilisk? You’d have to be barmy. One look, and you’re turned to stone.” She took up a goose-feather quill and began scratching madly on a scribble-ridden parchment.

Rory followed the scratching with her eyes, transfixed. “Quill!”

Danae’s feather pen zipped off the page and left a line of ink on Uncle Edmund’s oak library table. “Ro- _ry_!”

Rory shied away from the tone, but only for a second. “Quill, the flying horse! Papa used one of his feathers during the Great War. He said it protected him from Madd’s spells. Maybe the feather works on a basilisk, too, if it works on a dragon.”

Danae’s gaze came up, focused and intent. “Uncle Van still wears it, doesn’t he?”

Rory nodded. “But I might be able to cut a piece off the end while he sleeps.”

Danae paused, considering, then shook her head. “Even if you did it, where would we find a basilisk? Nowhere in Narnia.”

“They come from Calormen, don’t they? Won’t there still be some left?”

“And how are we going to pop over there and back to fetch the eye of a nasty monster before our family notices we’re missing?”

Rory stood and leaned over Danae’s shoulder to scan the text. “I can’t read all of that ... but I can get the rest of the stuff you need, if you tell me what it is.”

“No good without the basilisk eye,” Danae said, but she flipped her long, dark hair back over her shoulder and studied the words again. “We still can’t do the spell.”

“You’re half a Jinn,” Rory said. “You can teleport, can’t you?”

Danae scoffed. “Since I was three ... but not a whole country away!”

“I can talk to Arrow ...”

Danae whipped around to glare at her. “Don’t you dare!”

Shrinking back with a touch of hurt, Rory said, “What about Madd?”

Danae’s bright blue eyes came back to meet Rory’s gaze. Sharper now, they seemed to shine in the candlelight. Sometimes Danae reminded Rory of a dragon, herself, unpredictable and stubborn. “Madd loves you to pieces ... and he’s not like Arrow. Arrow would just go straight to Mother, or worse, Uncle Peter, about it. He’ll take me if _you_ tell him to.”

Glad to be helping at last, Rory nodded vigorously. “I’ll go right now. He should be on the beach.” She hurried out of the room.


	16. Relic

_Aslan’s How, Narnia_   
_2303_

Silas remained in the Table Room long after Caspian, his advisors, and the rest of the Narnians had filed out for the night. He sat on the edge of the Table, with the heels of his hands pressed on the verge to either side of him, and his fingertips touching some of the worn runes. In the glow of firelight, he sought the outlines of Aslan’s figure, carved into the rock behind what remained of the stone arch. “I don’t know why you’ve sent me here,” he murmured. “I’ve brought back the dryads, and I will share my knowledge of swordfighting with Caspian. I’m involved, as I’m sure you wanted ... but how can that be enough?” He bent his head. When he raised it again, Aslan’s image blurred through a faint sheen of tears, quickly blinked away. “Tell me I’ll see them again.”

Only silence answered.

“Oh! Forgive me, Your Highness,” came a voice a moment later.

Silas turned to find Doctor Cornelius in the doorway to the Table Room. The old man bowed swiftly, and began to back out of the room.

“Stay, sir,” Silas told him. “You are not intruding.”

Cornelius shuffled into the room. He approached Silas, but did not sit. “Your companion is a well-read young lady, sire.”

Silas gave a nod, distracted, still gazing at the carved image of the Lion.

“We have been talking,” said Cornelius. “Now that you have returned the dryads to Narnia, there may be nearly enough magic here to send you back to your time.”

Silas’s gaze shot up to meet the old man’s. “Nearly?”

“Nothing can equal the power of Aslan’s call. We can hardly hope to approach it, even with Queen Susan’s horn. I have brought some scrolls with me. Together with the writings all over the How, we might find the answer to your return home.” He gave a sober bow. “Sire, all I ask is that you help my prince. He is young, but he has a noble heart, and I believe that in time, he may become the king Narnia needs.”

“I am at your service, good Doctor.”

The end of Cornelius’s nose reddened even in the firelight. “Of course, you have already said you would help him with his military skills. I did not mean to imply otherwise. I mean to ask your help in making Caspian and the Narnians known to one another. We are still but strangers to Old Narnia. I think one of their own might encourage them to accept him with greater favor, and you, as a liaison between them, can make Caspian more comfortable with the protocols of looking after these people.”

Silas smiled at the sudden warmth in his chest. “You care for him a great deal,” he observed.

Cornelius bowed again. “As a father might a son, Your Highness.”

“I will do everything I can. With such a vigilant tutor, how can he fail to rule wisely and well?”

Cornelius grinned so widely his bushy beard and moustache stuck out like bristles. “Thank you, sire, thank you.”

Silas started back to the sleeping quarters they’d set aside for him, a roomy offshoot of the main cavern, close enough for business but far enough away to provide him some respectful privacy. It was situated a bit farther down from the space they’d set aside for Jaelyn and some of the females in their company—cooks, soldiers, tailors, scribes like herself. It never failed to surprise Silas how many people it took to move an army.

He nearly ran into Jaelyn herself. Her hair was wild, and her eyes shone with excitement. She clutched a gilded tube to her chest. “Silas! Silas, look what I found, you’ll never believe it!” She seized his sleeve and all but dragged him toward his chamber. A few curious passersby stared at them until he smoothly extracted his arm to “guide” her down the rough-cut stone hall.

She seemed to realize then that she’d been taking liberties no one should be taking. A quick look of apology crossed her features, but whatever was on her mind trumped it, because she hurried down the hall, clutching the tube tighter.

She pushed through the heavy tapestry hung in his “doorway” and reached to a hook pounded into the stone wall to turn his lantern higher. The room brightened into near-daylight. “What’s this all about?” he asked.

She pushed the tube at him. “Look, look! Careful, now, the canvas is brittle round the edges. Don’t damage it!” She reached anxiously out and hesitated, as if she wanted to take the tube back into her protection after she’d given it.

He opened it, carefully as she’d instructed. Inside lay a heavy, scrolled canvas. He tipped the container over his cot and slid the canvas out. It unrolled itself, and he found himself looking at an artful painting of a woman.

Standing in a framework of intertwined birch leaves, she looked like any other woman, except that her hair was so pale a blond as to be almost silver, her eyes were green, and she wore a dryad’s dress. The circlet on her brow bore more birch leaves, painted in faded silver. At its center was a medallion bearing the stylized tree of Selbaran. “My mother,” he breathed through a throat gone suddenly tight.

“It is, I knew it!” Jaelyn danced up and down beside him. “Caspian’s tutor—Doctor Cornelius—he had it with his things from Starshold, and brought it with him when he escaped. I asked if I could have it, because I knew it must be a dryad, and I thought you’d want it. The crown, I just knew it was a queen, and then I thought about Queen Asha, and I got to hoping ...”

Silas interrupted her by taking her hands in his. He kissed them both. “Thank you.”

When she looked up at him, still flushed with excitement, her grin faded into an anxious, earnest look. She remained statue-still, neither stepping closer nor pulling away. “I’m almost done with the letter of challenge. Will you go first thing in the morning?”

“As soon as I wake,” he said.

She hesitated again. Looked at the floor, looked at the walls, looked at the painting on the cot ... anything but him. “I’m going to help Doctor Cornelius find you a way home. I’ll spend the whole day on it ...”

He watched the movement of her mouth without any attention on her words. She bit her lip when she was nervous. He smiled ... until he realized he was still holding her hands. He let go. “Have you eaten?”

“No.” She resumed shuffling in place. “I’m too busy, too excited, too worried about tomorrow ...”

He couldn’t help himself. He laid a hand on her shoulder, stopping her fidgeting. “Stand still, for the love of Aslan.”

Her brow creased. “I shouldn’t be in here. I’ll go. I’m sorry, I’m intruding ...”

He went swiftly to the tapestry in his doorway and pushed it aside. The Old Narnians would never question him, but one of the few valuable things a non-noble woman possessed was her reputation ... and he wasn’t helping it any. “I thank you for the canvas,” he said, more for the ears of any eavesdroppers than for her.

She was as red as a radish to the very tips of her ears, and she’d begun chewing at her lip again. He looked away to avoid the sight, but the scent of ink floated toward him. “I will see you after we return from parley.”

“Right, of course.” She bolted toward the doorway, but there wasn’t enough room for her to pass without brushing him.

This close, he could hear her heartbeat drumming the blood through her veins. The ink-and-parchment scent flooded him, and try as he might to envision an ancient, still forest leagues away from her, he only ended up picturing her sitting in a candlelit library, bent over her books, chewing that lip.

She was shaking.

He took a large, swift step back. “Good night.”

“Good night,” she gasped out, and fled the room.

Silas drew a long sigh and scraped a hand through his hair. His gaze found the portrait of his mother. She’d been painted by an artist of no small talent, with a slight smile on her face that seemed to indicate some private joke or clever secret. Jaelyn’s scent hung in the air, pervasive, unsettling. He sat on the cot and glared at the painting. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said ruefully. “I’m as much an artifact as you are, in this place. I don’t belong here.”

What he ought to do was find Cornelius and begin planning his way home, the sooner, the better. Back to Selbaran, back to his duty. Back to an arranged marriage with a dryad who smelled of the forest, and not ink and crumbling texts. He closed his eyes and tried to picture his phantom bride-to-be. A creature of exquisite grace and beauty, surely. As courageous as she was lovely. The image wouldn’t come.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to his mother’s painted smile, but this time it seemed one of sympathy.

With gentle hands, he rolled the canvas and replaced it in its tube. He almost longed for the danger that the next morning’s parley would bring him. If nothing else, it was a certain distraction from ... other things.


	17. Blood Brothers

_The Stone Table, Narnia_   
_1030_

The Jinn was called Rajan, and Caspian the Second’s band of followers were terrified of him. The entire regiment reeked of fear night and day. Aedan was not so imprisoned within himself that he couldn’t sneeze and wrinkle his nose, and he did so constantly until it was sore. Cas had ordered that no fires were to be lit tonight, the better to conceal their presence, even though the Jinn had spelled their encampment to ward off any Narnians’ approach or observation. Aedan sneezed again, wishing for smoke to help hide the stench of the troops’ fright.

Caspian the Second was not a patient man. “Will _someone_ stuff a kerchief in that dog’s _nose_!” he shouted.

One of his lackeys stumped toward Aedan. “Come on, dog. Take you for a walk.” In spite of his bluster, his hand trembled as he reached for the end of the chain around Aedan’s neck.

Aedan couldn’t speak or move to attack, but he gave the man a long, icy look that would leave no doubt that the only thing separating them from an ugly fight was a few enchanted metal links. After that, the lackey avoided taunting him.

The man dragged him out toward the edge of camp, providing Aedan with a terrific opportunity to scout the quantity and arrangement of Cas’s soldiers. Where was a Narnian bird when he needed one? A simple message to Cair would have this band of miscreants put down before they could cause trouble.

But for that Jinn. If only Aedan could get a missive to Uncle Saris! He hesitated, scanning the company and noting officers in their rank and number.

“Come on!” the lackey snarled, jerking at the chain. When Aedan resisted, the man cursed, and his grip slipped. Aedan smelled burnt skin. The end of the chain had burned the man’s hand. With a grouchy mutter, Cas’s man pulled a knife from his belt and slipped the blade through one of the links on the end of the chain. When he pulled, the link snapped and dissolved into nothing, leaving Aedan standing there, startled but still unable to move, and the lackey with a stupefied stare on his face.

A strong, blue hand snatched the man’s wrist and twisted until the lackey dropped his knife. “Your skin will not long resist this enchantment,” the Jinn said, “and do not presume to touch the chain with your steel again, or you will answer to me.”

“N-No sir. I mean, yes, sir. I mean no, I won’t,” the lackey fumbled.

The Jinn melted away into the darkness in the same silence with which he’d appeared.

Aedan stared at the end of the chain, still swinging, still missing that last link. He thought longingly of his sword and knife, taken from him on his capture. Could they break the chain, mere cold steel against enchanted links? What was he thinking, of course they could! There was the proof ... or there _wasn’t_ the proof, for the link had snapped and disappeared, like so much smoke. Such a simple end to the spell—so many knives in camp—and he was _still_ powerless to end it.

If there was one thing Aedan hated—indeed, had rarely ever had to confront—it was powerlessness. He tested his bonds with an attempt at a snarl and struggle.

No. Still silent, still immobile. The wolf in him roared its discontent.

The lackey pushed at his back now, a little nervously. It worked just as well as being pulled by the end of the chain. They went as far as the very edge of camp, where the man shoved him down. “Stay there!” he snarled, as if Aedan had a choice, and walked away.

Aedan sighed. At least there was a bit of a breeze here to wash away the stink of fear.

They offered him no food or drink. Whatever they planned to do, they didn’t seem to think it worth the bother of keeping up his strength. That they’d troubled to capture him at all was proof that they wanted him alive—for now—so they must not have been planning to take him very far.

And Cair was uncomfortably close for a surprise attack by a battalion of this size.

He looked to the sky and found the Leopard, racing across the sky as a shining constellation. _Would that you could warn them,_ he thought angrily. _Would that I could warn anyone. What good is a soldier unable to defend his kingdom? Aslan, please ... help me do something!_

Aedan thought of the danger, so close to the castle, so close to his family. His mother, his father. His cousins, even little Galen and Garrett, who idolized him. They would be attacked without warning, killed before they had a chance to live. He growled low ... and was startled to find that the sound bubbled up, very real, from his throat.

\- # -

_Aslan’s How, Narnia_   
_2303_

Silas snapped his head up, out of sound sleep, and was on his feet in half an instant with his knife drawn. A familiar scent drifted past his nose, now wolf, now human.

Werewolf.

He snatched up his sword and went to his doorway to draw aside the tapestry.

The satyrs posted to either side of his doorway nodded in deference. He padded down the stone hall, past troops both slumbering and busy with leather repairs, cleaning, or cooking. An army never truly slept. There was work to be done at all hours, while others of the company rested. Those who were awake acknowledged him with respectful nods or bows, and let him go on his way.

Silas followed his nose, the remnants of a growl still hanging in his ears. As he passed down another hall, he saw Prince Caspian, just coming from his own quarters. The prince paused, and an expression of concern and sudden alertness crossed his face. “What is it?”

“Are there werewolves among your company?” Silas asked.

Caspian’s brows shot up. “Of course not.” The prince fell into step beside him as they approached the entrance to the How. “Miraz’s army would never employ a werewolf. They fear magic.”

Silas sniffed the air. “All the same.” He buckled on his scabbard, and handed Caspian his knife. Silently, the two passed the guards at the entrance to the How.

Caspian had been taught well. He moved soundlessly, almost as soundlessly as Silas himself. They circuited the How, passing guards posted at intervals. No one mentioned a disturbance.

As they came round to the southern perimeter of the How, Silas froze where he stood, with his skin prickling even though no one was around. “Aedan!”

\- # -

_The Stone Table, Narnia_   
_1030_

In that exact spot, some thirteen hundred years prior, Aedan’s eyes shot wide open where he sat. _Silas?_ he tried to say, but the word couldn’t slip past the enchanted silence upon him. He struggled, snarled again, tried to speak. In frustration, the wolf in him let loose a whine.

 _I hear you growling, I hear you,_ came Silas’s voice in his head. _Where are you? Never mind that, you need to get to Cair and warn our family. They’re going to be sacked!_

He let the wolf give another snarl, a forceful one, and hoped Silas understood that he knew the danger and was trying to do just that.

Silas sounded downright frantic. _Get to Cair, get to Aunt Susan’s horn, maybe you can call me back—_

“Here, you! Dog, knock off that noise!” Someone tossed a wooden cup at Aedan. It bounced off his chest and rolled to the bottom of the slope.

Aedan growled again. _I’m trapped,_ he tried to say. _I can’t move, and there’s an army ..._ No sound but the wolf’s snarl made it past his lips.

“ _I_ got ‘im,” said a burly man. He grabbed Aedan by the back of his chain mail shirt and dragged him roughly to his feet.

 _I’m losing you,_ Silas called. _Aedan, what’s happening, where are you going? Aed—_

The man pushed Aedan down the slope. Aedan stumbled and fell, rolling to the bottom beside the wooden cup. He growled, but the man hurried down the hill to slam a boot into his ribs.

Pain smashed through his body. Aedan snarled again, but couldn’t even twist to cradle his aching side. The man laughed, long and loud. “Always did want to kick a dog when he was down.”

The other Telmarines in their hearing laughed with the man.

From the corner of his eye, Aedan looked back up the slope to where he’d been sitting a second before.

Aunt Susan’s horn. Wherever Silas was, he needed that old horn to get back here and help. _I’m on it, Silas,_ Aedan thought. _Somehow._


	18. Liar's Bane

_The Great Desert, Calormen_   
_1030_

“Are you sssssure you ssssspoke with your parentsssss before we left?” Maddoken demanded as they lighted on the sand near an oasis.

“Of course I’m sure,” Danae said.

The dragon gave a low, doubtful-sounding growl.

“Look, we’re doing this to help our family. They never let us do anything useful, and really, what good is a princess who hasn’t had a chance to help defend her kingdom?” She stroked Madd’s cheek. “He’s my cousin, Madd,” she coaxed. “He needs to come home. Besides, what better protection could I want than you?”

Maddoken gave another growl, less forceful, and Danae knew she’d won the argument. Satisfied, she jogged toward the oasis and refilled a flask with fresh water. “I read all about basilisks while Rory went to see you. They like the mountains.”

“You would, too, if every other creature in the world wasssss alwaysssss trying to kill you.”

Danae refused to be baited or feel sorry for the beast, since they were about to try just that. “Well, there’s only one mountain range in Calormen where a basilisk could be hiding. Let’s check around the Valley of the Thousand Perfumes.”

“You humansssss attach the sssssilliessssst namesssss to thingsssss,” Madd grumbled.

“Not human,” she said. “Or not _all_.” She struggled with a familiar twinge of fear. Half a Jinn, she might still be subjected to that curse of Jinns, and one day become bound to fulfill another person’s wishes. Her father had told her that all Jinn received the curse, and the golden bracelets and collar that signified it, once they came of age. He and her mother had watched their children’s growth with a mixture of pride and worry. Her human blood might prevent the curse, but no one really knew for certain ... and Aslan wasn’t around to ask.

Where was he? Would he ever return to Narnia, or had he now entrusted its future care to the Pevensie line and their descendents?

If she were cursed to serve others for the rest of her life, how could she serve Narnia at all?

“If we’re going, we had better go,” said Maddoken. “I’m hungry, after all.”

She forced a smile, and climbed onto his back again. “You’re _always_ hungry.”

“It’sssss part of my charm,” he said as they flapped away.

Only a moment later, they passed over the Valley. The area was lush, full of settlements, gardens, and inviting pools. Danae only glimpsed them, faintly, as Maddoken flashed over them. The inhabitants below wouldn’t even notice their passing.

Then they rose upward, into Calormen’s only major mountain range. Here was the source of the River of Calormen, but the mountains themselves bore none of the famed luxury of the Valley of the Thousand Perfumes. It was as if all the ease and comfort the land could have given had been drawn from those forbidding crags, and poured out with the escaping river.

A fit place for a beast that could turn all to stone with one look. Danae shivered and touched the bit of feather she’d attached to a leather lace around her neck. “Will this feather protect you, as well as me?”

The dragon rumbled deep in his throat. “I’m a magical ssssserpent myssssself, and don’t need the protection. Did you learn anything about thisssss creature before coming here?”

“It fears weasels,” she offered.

“Maybe you ssssshould have brought one.”

“I brought something better,” she said, laying a hand on the pouch strapped to her belt. _I hope._ All the way here, she’d had the uneasy certainty that Aslan was somehow watching her, and disapproving of her actions. How could he be angry with her for wanting to help find Silas?

 _Because,_ she could almost hear the Lion say, _you are helping not for his sake, but yours, to prove that you are strong enough to conquer the magic within you. You disobeyed your parents for pride._

She ignored the voice and clutched harder on the yoke around Madd’s neck. “Do you see anything?”

“Look for burned plainsssss within the rocksssss. They create fire, besssssidesssss turning creaturesssss to ssssstone. And you’d better ssssstuff cloth in your earsssss. Hearing it talk will kill you, too.”

“It’s a wonder anything dares to approach it,” she said. “There—a burnt field. Take us down.” She guided the dragon lower, and they flapped to a landing in scorched grass. Right away, as Madd had instructed, Danae tore two scraps fabric from her skirt, and jammed them into her ears. _I must look awfully silly._

No sooner had they lighted on the grass than the earth rumbled behind her. Maddoken snaked his neck around, and she felt, more than heard, him hiss fiercely, from deep in his belly. He scooped Danae under his foreleg and snapped his wings open. Even with the cloth stuffed in her ears, she heard him growling, a vibration that jostled her insides.

From a cave at the end of the field, she saw a shadow. Danae’s knees went as shaky as a jiggled pudding, and she huddled against Madd’s foreleg.

But out of the cave came a tiny, fuzzy-bodied creature that looked rather like a partly-molted chicken. Patches of scales showed through where the feather-fuzz was sparse, and gleamed rainbow in the sun. The little creature walked on two very chicken-like front legs, while a serpent tail slithered along behind.

Danae giggled. “That’s it?” she demanded. “That’s all? It’s no taller than my knees. I could step on it.”

Madd hissed again. The creature fluttered a pair of absurdly tiny stick-like wings, and though it opened its beak wide, she didn’t hear a sound through the cloth in her ears.

Then another emerged from the cave.

And another.

Danae stopped laughing, and as she went for the object in her belt pouch, her hand started to tremble.

Then a much bigger shadow appeared at the mouth of the cave, almost as big as Maddoken. Danae gulped. _Oh, Father, I should have listened to you._


	19. Swordswoman and Scribe

_Aslan’s How, Narnia_  
 _2303_

Jaelyn rushed to a breathless stop in a cavern near the entrance to the How. Caspian, armored and wielding sword and shield, practiced with a pair of fauns and a minotaur. “Has he gone?” she panted.

Caspian turned his attention to her, and almost lost his head to a sword’s swing. He ducked at the last moment, and held up a hand to stall the practice.

“Sorry!” Jaelyn yelped.

Caspian grinned. “Do not worry. A foe would not allow me to pause, either. It is good practice.”

Blushing still, she glanced toward the entrance to the cave. “Has he gone to parley?”

“Yes,” said Caspian, and in one syllable, he managed to convey a wealth of understanding about her anxiety. With a brighter tone, he added, “He has asked that you break your fast with me.”

“With you?”

Caspian sheathed his sword and drew the shield off his arm. “And then meet with Doctor Cornelius, a bit later on,” he added. “He is anxious to talk with you about the book you brought. While most of it is merely a register of the creatures of Narnia, there are some things we might use against Miraz, should his army attack. And he will need you to read the writings on the walls of the How.”

“Of course ... Your Highness,” she said quickly. She needed to start remembering to address royalty properly, or she’d get herself into trouble.

Breakfast was delicious—coddled eggs and bacon, with toast and jam and fresh berries with cream. Jaelyn never ate so richly in her little library tower at Anvard. Normally, it was porridge and milk, the meager fare of an apprentice scribe. Last Christmas, Rune gifted her with a bite of chocolate, and it was the most wonderful thing she’d ever tasted. Here was a cup of hot chocolate, a whole steaming cup, just for her.

When she drained it, too entranced by the sweet flavor to make it last, Caspian pushed a little pewter teapot toward her. “There is more.”

“I couldn’t,” she protested, even as she stared longingly at the steaming pot.

Chuckling, Caspian refilled her cup himself. “Prince Silas asked me to treat you as a member of his household while he was gone. I can certainly spare you a pot of chocolate.”

The words _a member of his household_ rushed through her with a little thrill, and quick on its heels came the memory of Silas’s kisses. Suddenly, it was all too hard to sit still. Her face burned, and she picked up the cup to have something to hide behind.

A scribe and a prince. How ridiculous! It was beyond impossible.

Caspian studied her, somehow looking different in the past couple of days than when she’d first met him. Stronger, somehow. Wiser.

A little too wise. “He is as safe as may be, Jaelyn,” Caspian said. “He has the Bear and the giant, and your own words, to protect him until his return.”

Her words. A writ of challenge. A flimsy little piece of parchment. Words weren’t plate armor. Words weren’t strong stone walls. Miraz and his men could be tearing Silas apart, piece by piece, even now.

Seeing that she was finished with her breakfast, Caspian stood. “We must do something to soothe your nerves. Doctor Cornelius has always favored action as a remedy to anxiety. Would you like to begin studies, or shall we train at weapons together?”

“M-Me, Your Highness?”

“Of course.”

So it was that over the next hour, Jaelyn was immersed in learning the use of a knife and short sword. Caspian, taught by masters, was himself an excellent combat tutor. While she was hopeless in a hand-to-hand fight in close quarters, Jaelyn was patient, and quick to act when there was an opening. She caught Caspian by surprise toward the end of their lesson, and he laughed so heartily at her astonishment that she couldn’t help laughing, herself.

“Excellent work, my prince. And you, as well, young scribe,” came Doctor Cornelius’s voice. Caspian’s tutor strode toward them with an armload of books and parchments.

“Thank you, sir,” said Jaelyn. She hurried to help him, and together, they laid the writings on the cleared breakfast table.

“I have been researching among my own collection, Jaelyn,” Cornelius told her, “and if my suspicions are correct, we are going to need great magic to solve the problem of restoring Prince Silas to his time. We cannot use Queen Susan’s horn, of course, but it may be that you and I can find some other way to call forth the magic necessary. And so, we begin.”

“I shall take my leave, then,” Caspian said with a grin. “I know there is trouble when my tutor gets that look in his eye.” He bowed over Jaelyn’s hand, as if she were a real lady. “Until later, Jaelyn.”

She didn’t know what to say, but found herself smiling as Prince Caspian retreated.

Hours passed. Perusing the old books (some of which were written in languages she barely recognized, and Cornelius knew as little of them as she), Jaelyn began piecing together the lost history of Old Narnia. She recorded each fact with painstaking care, from the very beginning, in a blank text given her by Caspian’s tutor. Caspian himself dropped in on her progress now and then, and was lavish with his praise for her efforts, which made her all at once self-conscious and proud. Finally, she exhausted Cornelius’s collection of books, and turned to the carvings and paintings on the walls of the How.

When she came to the building of Cair Paravel and its prophecy of the Four Thrones, she thrilled to read it, carved there in the stone. When she read of the arrival of the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve, she felt as if Silas’s family were speaking to her through the writings. Narnia was alive again!

Caspian left off eventually to see to the How’s military defenses. Even Cornelius begged off after a time, visibly weary. But not Jaelyn. She noticed no passing of hours, even when a plump Satyr approached her with the (politely declined) offer of lunch, and then supper.

No, it would not do to leave her work, not now when such a story was at hand! Here and there, she sketched in a bit of illumination with the text, where she thought the story might better be told with pictures. _I’ll have to come back and ink that in later._ She gave no thought to the possibility that there might not be a later to come back to.

Her lantern had burned very low now, and she has begun to think of returning to her quarters for another pair of fat candles when she heard a voice behind her. “Have you been here since I left?”

She spun around to find Silas behind her in the narrow hall where she’d ended up. “Yes, yes. Writing,” she said, her head still swimming with stories of Narnia’s Great War. Taking a second look, and finding him still there (and not some illusion), she snapped back to the present and recalled the worries that had been plaguing her all day. “You’re back!” She sprang forward to hug him.

His laughter was music in her ears. “Unharmed, as promised, though it was a delicate dance.” He held her back at arm’s length. “You haven’t been at this all day, have you?”

“It’s my job, isn’t it? To help you?”

“Not at the cost of your own health. Come and have supper. I haven’t eaten, either, and I’m worn out.” She just had time to pick up her book and writing instruments before he took her arm. “I’ve already met with Caspian. I’ll tell you what’s happened.”

They went, not to the main hall, but to Caspian’s own dining room, a little space set apart for the prince’s privacy. The table bore the remains of the meal that had been set out for His Highness. “Caspian’s long gone to bed ... as you should have been,” Silas reminded her.

She was so glad to see him back, and intact, that the scolding bothered her not at all. Brimming with eagerness to tell him all she’d learned, she piled potatoes and roast quail on her plate. “I filled most of a book today. I’ll need another. Your father was very brave in the Great War, running supplies and information for Narnia like that. You’re a lot like him. Of course, it must have been terrifying in the extreme to face the White Witch and all her army. I couldn’t imagine—”

Chuckling, Silas sat, not at the head of the table, but in the chair beside her. “You _have_ been busy.”

She turned to him, and only now, it really occurred to her that he might not have returned from Miraz at all, let alone in a jesting mood. She shoved at his shoulder. “I worried about you all day! What could I do but retreat into my work?”

“And, I’m told, some swordsmanship.”

“How can you be so casual? What did Miraz say? What did he do? Will he come? Will he attack?”

“One question at a time,” he said with another laugh. He helped himself to a bit of the meal, though she noticed he ate lightly. His face went serious. “He will come, in three days’ time. I’ve only that long to teach Caspian all I know about warfare, and I hope that will be enough. Miraz has agreed to single combat, but we will need the Old Narnians to be prepared.”

“And me? What can I do?”

His green eyes darkened. “I’ve arranged for your safe passage back to your tutor in Archenland.” She started to protest, but he held up a hand. “I cannot protect you and help Caspian also.”

“I don’t want protection! I want to help!” she cried. “What about all this work I’ve done? What about sending you home?”

His expression was sorrowful. “I cannot depend on that happening, any more than I can depend on Miraz calling off his invasion.”

With her eyes stinging, Jaelyn pushed her untouched plate away. “So all the writing I did today ...”

“...was to keep your mind off the coming battle,” he said. “It will happen, with far more certainty than that of my return home.”

“Why tell me this _now_?”

“Last night, I thought I’d heard something, had some magical connection, to my cousin Aedan. But it’s gone, and I can’t get it back. It’s time I faced that Aslan may have other plans for me. Plans, perhaps, to re-establish the dryads here, now, in this Narnia.”

By r _e-establish_ , he meant _marry one_. Jaelyn was in no way prepared for how the bottom dropped out of her stomach. All day, she had been on tenterhooks awaiting news of him, and now that he’d come, it was only to send her away again?

She forced away the sudden ache, and turned instead to something she _could_ argue—her own value. She shot out of her chair, any appetite brought by his safe return now completely dashed. “I need to go. I have to put my book safely away, and start again early in the morning.”

He spread his hands. “I just told you—”

“I know what you said! _You_ may not think my work can help you, but _I_ do. And _when_ I send you home, Silas Pevensie, my last words to you will be ‘Good riddance!’” She rushed out of the room, lest he see the tears threatening at the backs of her eyes.

No man had ever cared enough to pluck her from her dusty little scribe’s closet, and dance with her, and kiss her, and share his food and fire with her. Her songs at summertime bonfires were always solo. She was an outsider, observing life and writing it down, never really a part of it.

And she never would be.

Certainly not with a prince.


	20. Beauty and the Basilisk

_The Great Mountains, Calormen_   
_1030_

_The basilisk._ With fear squeezing its icy fist around her heart, Danae plunged a hand into the pouch at her belt. She need not fear the beast’s stare—Quill’s feather protected her from it—but words were not spells, and its claws and beak would be sharp as blades. If the cloth in her ears came loose, its voice could still kill her. And if it approached close enough to attack, she had little but her magic and wits to defend herself. Precious little magic, at that. As to her wits, she had plenty.

The beast came into full view now, and when it opened its beak, Danae quickly spoke the prayer she’d rehearsed from her reading. “Great Tash, by your flame, protect me. Make silent the voice of the beast. Make strong the hands of your warrior.”

Lightning flashed in the clear blue sky, and though she heard nothing at all, Danae felt in her heart a furious roar. _Aslan, I did nothing wrong! I’m trying to help my family!_

But there was no response. And there was no sound from the hideous creature slithering forth from the cave, even though its beak was open wide, and the earth trembled with its stamping front feet. It glared at her, and when it discovered she was unaffected by its stare, it gave that silent snarl again and rushed faster toward her.

“Stay where you are!” she shouted, snatching the object from her belt. “I have a mirror!”

The beast gave a shriek so loud, she felt it in the ground shivering at her feet. It halted, flapping its wings, as Maddoken dodged in front of her and roared, himself. She didn’t hear that, either, only felt it.

Danae pushed ahead of him and held the mirror high. “Back!” she ordered.

The creature turned its head away at once, closing its eyes.

So it would work. The beast could turn _itself_ to stone, if it but glimpsed its reflection. It had been a guess, a fool’s hope.

She knew it was hissing, and even though her hands shook, Danae approached the basilisk. Madd tried to stop her, but again, she pushed him aside, still holding the mirror high.

The basilisk’s beak was open wide in a soundless hiss. Still flapping, still with its eyes closed tight, it lowered its forelegs to the ground and lay there, submitting, even though its tail lashed furiously back and forth. The feathers on its head gleamed metallic blue, and its scales gleamed with reflected rainbows. Strangely beautiful.

Giddy with victory, Danae stood over the beast. _I won. I won!_

But there was still the matter of the eye.

It had to be done. There was no way to bring Silas and Aedan home without it.   “I will spare you and your brood,” she said importantly, glancing toward the cave, where the young basilisks hopped about, clearly wanting their mother back. “In return, I want your eye.”

The basilisk hissed again, still without sound. It flapped its wings a couple of times and stretched out with its beak, snapping.

Danae dodged its strike. “I am not afraid to use this mirror on any basilisk I see here!” she shouted.

The ground shook as Maddoken came forward. The look in his one good eye was reproachful. Danae felt a moment of remorse, but shoved it aside. There was no room for hesitation. If she wanted to achieve her goal, she had to do this. She glared down at the beast at her feet. “What is your answer?”

The beast reached a claw up to its face and scratched. Danae cringed.

But what fell from the basilisk’s empty socket was no longer an eye. On the ground rolled a stunning, faceted crimson stone the size of Danae’s fist.

Quickly, she snatched it up in a fold of cloth. “Hurry, let’s go!” she shouted to Maddoken, leaping up to his back and dropping her mirror. The piece shattered against stones, and just as she and Madd were flapping into the air, she felt the vibration of an angry, serpent screech.

Madd sucked in a breath of air as they rose, then turned his head to spew a burst of flame behind them. Danae risked a look. The basilisk escaped the burst of dragon flame by a hair’s breadth, and started toward them again. “Go, go! It won’t leave the babies!”

Madd leaned forward into the air, and in a flash, they were away.

An instant later, they arrived in Narnia. When they landed back on the beach at Cair Bay, Danae flung the bits of cloth from her ears, and was pleased to find she could hear again. “We got it, Madd! We got it!” She thrust a hand into her pouch, then held up the Basilisk’s Eye with both hands, where it glowed in the sun.

“Yesssss,” was all Madd said.

Her flush of triumph ebbed in the wake of disappointment. “What’s the matter? We’re heroes!”

“It isssssn’t heroic to bully a mother,” said the dragon.

“When did you get all noble? We did this for Silas. For Aedan. You did it for Rory!” She held the Eye higher so he could look at it.

Madd raised his head out of her reach. “There aren’t many thingsssss a dragon comesssss to regret,” he said, sweeping his tail around. “Thisssss isssss one.” And with a great sweep of his wings, he rose into the air, and flapped away.

\- # -

Edmund paced in the state room like a trapped tiger. His motions had begun to make Susan dizzy. “Please. Sit down, Ed. Saris will be back soon, and we’ll work this out.”

He hesitated only a moment before resuming his restless walking. The worry in his eyes made her want to hug her own children close.

Then Asha arrived, trailing Lucy and Rory. “Ed,” said Asha softly.

That, more than anything, stopped Ed’s pacing. Instead, he went to her side, and even from where she stood at the edge of Peter’s desk, Susan saw a little easing of his stern expression. Perhaps there was some comfort to be found in being soulbound, even in difficult times.

But it didn’t last. Rory carried the broken mirrored bowl. Her face was tear-streaked and contrite. Lucy carried an old book. She looked as angry as Susan had ever seen her. “Uncle, I’m sorry. We only meant to help.”

Ed’s gaze focused at last on Rory. “What do you mean?”

“We found a spell. Danae and I.”

Susan’s blood chilled. “You _what_?”

“She didn’t do it! Not yet,” Rory said. “I’m sorry, Aunt Susan, truly!” Rory hurried to Peter’s desk, and shoved the bowl onto it. Scattered inside were the bits of Silas’s hair that they’d found in the wooden box, as well as a few greyish tufts of loose fur, and some herbs. “We thought we found a spell to bring them both home, he and Aedan.”

Ed’s gaze went to the bowl, and with a sinking heart, Susan detected a flash of hope. “What sort of spell?” he asked.

“A dangerous one,” Lucy said quickly. “Ed, they’re just children. It would be impossible. A _basilisk eye_?”

Even now, Susan could see the wheels turning in Edmund’s head, searching out ways to make this plan possible, but safer. Asha gripped his hand, but he only squeezed it in response. “I’ll go fetch it myself, if it’ll bring him back,” he said.

Unless, Susan thought, seeing the alarm on Rory’s face, someone had already gone to fetch it. She started trembling. “Where is Danae?”

The door burst open, and Danae rushed in. “Here! I’m here!”

She hurried to Peter’s desk, and dropped something into the bowl with a heavy clink.

Susan snatched Danae’s arm and pulled her close to stroke her hair. Her daughter didn’t appear hurt. Susan looked into the bowl. Inside lay a large, shining red stone. “Where did you get that, Danae?”

“From a basilisk, of course!” she said matter-of-factly. She beamed at them all.

Rory gaped. “You did it! You really did it?”

“Of course I did it!” Danae said. “I said I would, and there it is!”

Ed turned to Lucy. “The book, Lu. Is that it?”

Lucy gave their brother a reluctant frown, but released the book. Ed carried it to the desk and laid it open to the place where a silk marker indicated. He scanned the text, then turned his attention to Susan. “Can Saris do this spell?”

She barely glanced at the text, still horrified at what Danae had done, and more horrified to imagine how she’d managed it. “Saris can do any spell he chooses to do, himself,” she said crisply. “I will not ask it of him.” She hugged Danae close.

But when she looked at her daughter, she saw not a girl glad to be returned safe to her family, but a little woman-child flush with her own success and pride.

And Susan feared for her.


	21. Training

_Aslan’s How, Narnia_   
_2303_

“Keep your sword up, Caspian,” said Silas. “Don’t lower it even for a second. I don’t expect Miraz to fight with honor, though he’ll expect it out of you.”

Caspian was sweating and clearly tired, but the determination on his face was admirable. Not once had he asked for a rest; it was Silas who called them, when he saw the Telmarine prince flagging.

Jaelyn sat at the edge of their sparring ground, a space of similar size to the field they would use for the actual combat, but inside the How. Silas didn’t trust the Telmarines not to send spies to observe Caspian’s techniques, if they’d trained outside. All Miraz would have was the same knowledge given in training any Telmarine warrior.

Caspian would have that, and more. If anything good could come from not having existed for thirteen centuries, Silas thought grimly, it was that his techniques, passed on to Caspian, would be a surprise to the Telmarines.

Jaelyn had kept her nose in her infernal book since their argument yesterday. Nothing he said to her provoked a response. She wrote, or studied the inscriptions in all the How’s rooms, or spoke with Cornelius. Even Caspian. That grated. It grated even more that it _did_ grate on him.

Back to business. He owed it to Caspian to provide the best possible attention to his combat training. And he certainly ought not to have been bothered if she chose to smile and laugh at Caspian when he stumbled over a stone, as if the two of them shared a joke. The Telmarine prince seemed to have grown fond of Jaelyn in Silas’s absence yesterday.

Fine, then. It bothered him. It bothered him enough that he decided the best use of his irritation was to redouble his efforts at pressing Caspian harder. The young prince answered Silas’s unspoken challenge gamely, even though he was panting and sweating and tired. He would make a fine king.

During a lull, Silas sat with Caspian on a rough-hewn stone bench. Silas produced a handful of silvery birch leaves. “If it comes to it, and Miraz catches you off guard, you’re to throw these in his face and say, _Kieranti a’kashti_. Got that? Caspian?”

Caspian had paused, eyes closed, breathing heavily. At Silas’s prodding, he snapped his eyes open and focused on the handful of leaves spinning slowly in Silas’s palm. “Magic? Is that not cheating?”

“It’s going to be part of your arsenal, the same as your knife, or the swordplay I’m teaching you. My father has used it, and he’s not a being of magic, either.” Silas held out his hand. “Don’t fool yourself. Miraz would use any advantage _he_ has, as long as he can best you with it. Say it with me. _Kieranti a’kashti._ ”

“Kee-ran...”

“It’s important you get this right, or it won’t work. Roll the “R.” Put emphasis on the last part of each word.” Silas said it again. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jaelyn’s head come up from her books and papers. She watched them sidelong, with a curious look in her eye. Silas transferred the leaves to Caspian’s palm, where they settled into a little pile. “Go on, try again.”

Caspian hesitated only a second before responding. “ _Kieranti a’kashti_.”

The little handful of leaves spun upward, whirling around Caspian, sending sparks of light dancing across the cavern ceiling. The Telmarine prince grinned, a look of wonder on his face.

Silas chuckled. “Pretty, yes. And distracting. A good way to buy yourself some time and distance, if things get too close-quartered. They’ll go wherever you direct them with a wave of your hand. To call them back, just open your palm and say, _a’kashti_.”

Caspian made the response, and when the leaves settled back into his palm, Silas gestured for him to put them in a pouch on his belt. Caspian did so, then met Silas’s eyes. “Thank you.”

With a grin of his own, Silas stood. “Thank me by living through this.”

\- # -

That evening, Jaelyn was in what passed for her room while she was here, sanding the ink on a last page to dry it before bed. The little pewter pounce pot shone in the candlelight, reminding her of the glimmering leaves Silas had given to Caspian.

She studied her handiwork. This page was part of the history she’d written, of course ... but it was much more personal to her than dusty old words and pictures from happenings long ago and far away. She’d given him an entire page, for goodness’s sake.

It was Silas, of course, with that little whirlwind of leaves around him, looking regal and confident and wise and ...

... and untouchable.

“How is it progressing?” asked a voice.

Startled, Jaelyn put the book down. Caspian stood in the entrance to her chamber with a curious look. He gestured to the book with a smile.

“Oh ... very well, thank you, Your Highness. Is something wrong?” she added, wondering why he’d trouble to visit her.

“I have come with a request.” He gestured for her to approach him, clearly not wanting to intrude on her bedchamber.

She carefully put the book out of sight, somehow self-conscious of that very personal illustration of Silas. “How may I help you, sire?”

“That is just it,” Caspian said with a smile. “You _have_ been of help, and a great deal of it. Your master at Anvard must be very proud of you.”

The thought of Rune, grouchy old Rune, brought a smile to Jaelyn’s lips. “I would like to think so,” she said with humor in her voice. The humor faded as she wondered what he must be facing now, and whether Miraz’s army had yet advanced on the castle.

“I have no wish to steal you from your home,” Caspian said, “but if all goes well with ...”

“Yes?” she prompted.

“I would like to offer you a place in my court. As my personal scribe.”

Her jaw dropped.

“I saw your work in the first book you created. Doctor Cornelius has read a great many texts, and yours is among the finest he’s seen. He says you have a gift for storytelling.”

“It’s not talent, so much as the material itself,” she protested. “Anyone could do it, with enough patience.”

“I think you underestimate your skill,” Caspian said, then he smiled. “But I am certain the subject matter was of great interest.”

She blushed, and Caspian grinned wider. “Have you eaten, or were you ignoring the need in favor of your histories again?”

“I’m ... Actually, I’m starving.”

“Good. It happens I am in possession of some roast mutton that needs eating, and there might be a pot of chocolate as well,” he added with a teasing smile.

She smiled back, and as they left Jaelyn’s chamber, they passed a group of dryads gathered around Silas. Caspian nodded to him, and Silas nodded back.

Jaelyn couldn’t meet his eyes, thinking of the illustration she’d made in the book, and how it did so little justice to the man standing across the way. Rune had been right. Her work was without heart, without feeling ... until now.

“Not to turn your attention back to your work,” Caspian said casually, “but Doctor Cornelius will be joining us. He has a few ideas for returning Prince Silas to his time.”

Jaelyn’s head snapped up. She stared at Caspian with unseemly and unprepared alarm.

The look in the young prince’s eyes softened. He seemed to understand her agitation. “We both know he does not belong here, and that he must return to his home,” Caspian said gently. “I do not want to tell him, yet, and raise his hopes without cause. But I thought you might want to know. And I want you to know, also, that no matter what happens, Jaelyn, you have a friend in me.”

She marshaled a return smile. “I thank you, Your Highness.”

\- # -

Silas finished his discussion with the dryads, who returned for the night to their trees outside the How. They would warn those who worked or slumbered inside if any of the Telmarines approached overnight, though Silas doubted Miraz would try to attack. The arrogant Lord Protector believed all would be settled on single combat with what he thought to be an inexperienced youngster. Caspian was a fast learner, and brave, and eager to better himself.

And, more importantly, human.

A fist knotted Silas’s insides. That again.

But Jaelyn belonged with humans, as he belonged with the dryads. Silas sensed that Caspian admired Jaelyn’s courage and her desire to be of help. She would do well with such a friend. And if more came of it ...

Well, Jaelyn was not a courtier, but she was beautiful, and strong-hearted as a stalwart aspen. If Caspian had any sense whatsoever, he would not let such a woman get away from him, no matter what conventions might hold in this time for marriage between a king and common folk.

And many of the dryads of this time were beautiful themselves. Silas wondered if Selbaran across the sea contained any dryads still. No one had been able to tell him. If he must remain here, to Selbaran he must go.

As he returned to his own chamber for the night, he tried hard to ignore the small voice inside him, telling him that he could not force a love where love did not—would not—exist.


	22. Injustice

_Narnia_   
_1030_

Aedan Pevensie was not the most patient of beings. He had inherited his father’s temper, and was often chastised for that.

But tonight, he discovered it could be incredibly useful ... and he had a lot to be angry about.

Caspian the Second was marching his Telmarine soldiers on Cair, without fear of notice. Jinn Rajan was powerful, perhaps more powerful than Aedan’s uncle Saris, and he hadn’t Uncle Saris’s restraint. Jinn Rajan was quick to punish, and Caspian the Second was quick to anger. A bad combination. So far, the bearers of Cas’s retribution were Aedan and a few unlucky Telmarine soldiers who’d been slow to obey orders.

Aedan almost pitied the others when they provoked whippings or other such punishment. It came on the heels of the slightest infraction. Aedan’s father had taught him that to rule one’s subjects by fear was a swift bond but a weak one. The soldiers who’d received the worst whippings seethed with hate afterward. The scent of it reeked almost as badly as their fear of the Jinn. Aedan had been whipped, too, so much and so often that his back bled through his shirt, and he couldn’t shift form to heal it. The cloth clung to his sore skin, itching, pulling, reopening the wounds whenever he moved. The only thing that prevented a fever, he suspected, was the hardiness of his werewolf blood.

For days, they’d been marching. Cas had seen no need to press their progress. He’d come this far without detection, and he felt it more important to stop and make an example of anyone that didn’t follow his orders. It slowed the march to a crawl, and the constant stop-and-start was as wearing on Aedan’s wounds as it was on his temper. Even so, they were closer to Cair than Aedan liked.

His anger flared once more that evening. A soldier had taken a soup pot from a young woman who was among those charged with the cooking and cleaning. Aedan caught the wistful smile on the woman’s lips as she gave the man the pot, but when she saw Aedan looking, her eyes widened fearfully, and she hurried away.

Afraid of him, Aedan wondered, or afraid of her affection for that young soldier becoming known?

But then the soldier was tripped—deliberately—by another, and the pot of soup spilled on a few of the troops seated nearby. The young soldier was brought to the post and whipped soundly for carelessness. The pain in his eyes each time the lash fell was difficult to see. Aedan watched in growing outrage as the young man went from standing, to kneeling, to crouching, beaten, at the bottom of the post—and still, Cas allowed his general to continue whipping the young man. The leer on Cas’s face was pure wickedness.

Aedan began to growl softly. His sharp ears picked up the faint sound of sobbing. He looked askance and found the woman crouched behind a wagon, watching tearfully, clamping a cloth to her mouth that did little to muffle her cries from his hearing.

When Aedan looked back to the brutal sight of the bleeding soldier, he found himself growling louder, and able to move his arms. The motion startled him.

So. It seemed that the angrier he was, the more he could fight this enchantment on him. Real feeling gave him power over this false imprisonment.

Instantly, he reached to the chain around his neck and wrestled it, trying to ignore the burning of the links against his skin as the magic resisted him. He kept his stare riveted on the soldier, and it was easy to let his outrage catch fire. No one deserved such cruelty. The sting of his back sharpened his resolve, and he struggled harder.

“Get that dog under control!” Cas shouted.

A soldier broke from the pack of observers—the one who’d tripped the young man—and approached with a dagger and an eager, toothy smile.

Aedan waited until the man neared, and sprang at him with a snarl. The soldier cried out and flinched backward, but not before Aedan had torn the dagger from his hand. Aedan thrust the blade through a link, any link, of his chain, and twisted.

The link snapped and dissolved. Blast. Only one of the end links.

“Get that knife!” shouted the general.

Several of the soldiers surrounded him now. Aedan dodged a blow, hissing at the burn of the enchanted chain. Between a pair of burly Telmarines, he glimpsed the woman, now watching him, round-eyed. Quickly, Aedan snapped another link in the chain, but he’d only cut off the trailing end, leaving a circlet of links still ringing his neck. He swung at one of the Telmarines, and his strike sprawled the man to the ground, unconscious.

“Stop,” said a calm voice, “and drop your blade.”

Aedan froze, unwilling, still snarling, but the knife fell from his fingers no matter how he tried to hold on. A curse formed on his lips, but he couldn’t utter it.

Jinn Rajan drifted forward out of the crowd. “Sleep,” he said, with that yellow-eyed stare boring into Aedan’s own.

Aedan felt himself falling, felt his consciousness slipping, but before he dropped to the ground, he saw the woman staring at him, still tearful, but with unmistakable gratitude in her eyes.

\- # -

Any of several foul curses would have escaped Aedan’s lips on his wakening, if he could only speak them. He might even have made an off-color comment regarding Aslan’s tail—begging the Lion’s pardon, of course, but Aedan hoped that considering the circumstances, the Lion might allow him some leeway. He was tied hand to foot in the back of a covered wagon, lying in a ball on his side, and it smelled as though the Telmarines had used this cart recently to store some overripe meat. A few pieces of rotten cabbage lay ignored in the corner of the cart bed. Aedan, who hadn’t eaten in days now, felt his stomach growling. Or maybe that was his own voice. No, definitely not his voice. He couldn’t even growl. That cursed Jinn had strengthened his spell.

The cart creaked, and something rustled behind him. Aedan couldn’t move or respond to the intrusion, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in a reflexive response.

“It’s all right,” came a whisper. “I won’t hurt you.”

Aedan drew a breath, and the scent that came to his nostrils told him it was the woman from earlier that evening, the one who’d been crying. Her hands pulled gently at the back of his shirt. He couldn’t even rumble a protest of pain as the cloth peeled away from his back. But the moment the sting began, something cool pressed against the skin, soothing it away.

“I thank you for what you tried to do,” she whispered. A few moments passed while she dabbed a damp, medicinal-smelling cloth over the wounds on his back. “I have heard your mother is a Telmarine.” The woman hesitated a moment. “They say she was the most beautiful woman in Tolyndar.”

Aedan swallowed. His sudden gratitude felt foreign, uncomfortable, but no less real for it.

“The man they whipped ...” she began, and choked off for a moment. “He has promised himself to me. In secret. His father ... He will not allow the marriage. My family is too poor.”

From the corner of his eye, Aedan saw the woman press a hand over her mouth. Tears tracked down her cheeks, and her breath hitched. “His father is the general. How could he do that to his own son?”

Aedan tried to speak, but it was still no use. He gave the woman a long look, full of anger on her behalf, as much as his own.

She met his eyes, and her expression sharpened. She began shaking. She reached into a pocket of the apron around her waist, and produced a tiny kitchen knife. Quickly, she slid it through one of the links around his neck, and tried to cut it. It didn’t budge. She gave a soft grunt of effort. Aedan felt the tip of the blade draw a stinging cut against his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she whispered.

There was the sound of clanking armor and heavy bootfalls outside, and the woman froze. Aedan tried to stem the terror in her eyes with a stern look. _Don’t give up now. Don’t panic. Try again,_ he said with his stare.

Laughter and low talk accompanied the sounds outside, and there was a loud thump against the wood of the cart. The wagon rocked with the push. Aedan smelled whiskey. “I hope you are sleeping well, dog!” said a soldier outside.

“He is not sleeping now, not with your drunken shouts,” said another voice.

“Maybe I should stay here all night and keep him company,” said the first voice, petulant.

“If you want to risk the anger of the Jinn, that is your business, fool,” said the second man. “I am going to bed.”

“Wait, wait ...” called the first. There were more bootfalls, which faded away.

The woman’s hands shook, and the knife blade rattled inside the link with tiny clicks. But she held Aedan’s stare even through her fright, and her lips firmed. With another soft grunt, she pulled the blade against the link.

And Aedan was free.


	23. Diversion

_Aslan’s How, Narnia_   
_2303_

“Take a rest, Caspian,” Silas suggested.

The young prince lowered himself to the stone bench with a sigh, and stretched his legs in front of him. Not once had he complained during the hour of rigorous training. Today was their last day to prepare, and when Silas and Caspian were not practicing for Caspian’s battle, they had been making plans to protect the How and its occupants from the war Silas knew would come.

He sighed, himself. Only when he was certain of Caspian’s victory would he take his leave and go to Selbaran. He had given up questioning the Lion. Questions gave no answers, anyway, only silence. Raised a soldier, Silas had learned when it was time to give up a truly lost effort, spare his resources, and turn them to a more productive task. And it was possible, just possible, that the Lion might no longer visit Narnia. No one had seen him since Silas’s time, after all. Aunt Lucy had once mentioned that Aslan would not be back for many years.

Well, thirteen hundred years was a lot of time, and the Lion still hadn’t come. _It’s up to us,_ he thought grimly.

Doctor Cornelius trundled toward them with a scroll in his hands. “Prince Silas, I crave a word with you.”

Silas glanced to Caspian. At the young prince’s nod, Silas joined Cornelius a little way from the practice area.

“I gather,” said the Doctor, “that Jaelyn has not spoken with you.”

No, she hadn’t. Not for three days, now. She had flatly refused to leave, even under his orders. _I will only come back,_ she had warned. As stubborn as his half-Jinn cousin Danae, that girl. Silas had no doubt that however Jaelyn blundered things, she could, and would, do exactly what she willed in the end.

“We have not spoken,” Silas confirmed. “I assumed she had been closeted with you, writing in that book of hers.”

“Yes, yes,” said Cornelius. “But we have found something that may be of import regarding you.”

That got his attention.

“There is a device,” Cornelius went on. “Two, to be precise. They act as a magical link to one another, over which distant persons may converse.”

“Mirrored bowls,” said Silas. “My family possessed them, one in Selbaran, and the other at Cair Paravel.”

Doctor Cornelius beamed. “Then it is true! They were a possession of the royal family of Pevensie.”

“Of course. What of them?” Silas asked.

“We believe there is a spell that may connect the two devices.”

“You need only to light the soot in the bowls to activate them,” Silas said.

“There is no soot,” the Doctor said. “Or if there was, there is no longer. It was used up, or lost to the ages between your time and ours. The first is in my rooms at Starshold—one of the artifacts I had collected over many years of searching. If we can find the second, we may be able to use the spell, and the bowls, to send you home.”

“Doctor, they only transport voices.”

“Actually, Your Highness, I believe they may transport more, under the correct circumstances. Walk with me, if you will.”

Silas followed along beside him, curious now. They traveled down a stone hall toward the private quarters of the young prince and his entourage. Passing a pair of guards who nodded deferentially at him, Silas gave them a nod in return.

“It was something you had said to me,” Cornelius told him, now a little red around the ears. “You told me your father and mother were soulbound. Connected. I began to look into the magical means by which people can bind to one another. If, as you say, your mother can communicate emotion to your father, why, that is a road, a path of sorts. If such a path can be created, why not one more substantial? Instead of _thoughts_ , why can one not transport _things_?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Doctor. You say these bowls can transport _me_?”

“Jaelyn found it,” Cornelius said triumphantly. They arrived at his room, and he pushed aside the tapestry hanging in the doorway. “Please, enter.”

Silas did. The Doctor’s room was full of books and manuscripts, stacked on every flat surface.

Cornelius reached for a book on top of the stack at his table. “Some three hundred years ago, a lorekeeper at Beaversdam used what he called a ‘Vessel of Flame’ to send his wife a pair of doves, to celebrate the anniversary of their marriage. Here is the passage:

_‘The experiment proved a success in every imaginable way. My wife, more than ten days’ ride from my post, received the birds three days after my test, on the day of our anniversary, and sent word of her pleasure and astonishment. I have been knighted for my success, and ordered to report to the castle as His Majesty’s personal scribe and Loremaster.’_

“This is of no import, Doctor,” Silas protested. “One bowl would have to be where I _am_ , and the other, where I want to _go_. You have only the one. Not even _have_ it. We must invade Starshold to _get_ it.”

“That’s just it, Your Highness!” Cornelius cried, now positively gleeful. “You said it yourself, one already is! You can be directed to your time, by way of the bowls your family possesses, either at Cair or in Selbaran! The scribe said _‘three days after.’_ Not only did he manage the _distance_ , sire, he managed _time_.”

Silas didn’t dare hope ... but a plan began to take shape in his warrior’s mind. An army, even a small one, would still be noticeable if it attempted to break into Starshold. With Miraz’s forces divided between the How and Archenland, the castle might be relatively undefended, but he was no fool to leave it entirely without guards.

A plan, and just when he’d been about to give up. Silas sent a silent word of thanks to Aslan for reminding him to keep faith. “I will get the bowl,” he said finally, “but you must tell me where to look.”

\- # -

“Of course you must go,” Caspian said, when Silas came to him about his intention to get the mirrored bowl. Watching them, Jaelyn admired the decisive way the young prince spoke. “I will provide the distraction myself, while I am battling Miraz.”

“If you think you are ready—” Silas began.

“I am as ready as I shall ever be, my friend,” said Caspian.   “If this is the only way to help you back to your time, I am willing to do whatever it takes.” He strode toward Silas and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You have taught me well, a favor I can repay but little. Let me return it, if I can.”

What a fine king he would make, Jaelyn thought with a little smile. When she looked to Silas, her smile vanished.

He would be gone soon, and by her own doing. She had even promised to find him a way home. Now she’d done it—maybe—and she very nearly regretted it.

Would he leave as soon as possible?

No. Not Silas. Not when his friend Caspian would need his help during the coming war. Silas was too honorable. He would see the matter safely settled, and then go home to his own family.

His honor. Dash his honor! So honorable that he respected her silence, and had not approached her during the three days they hadn’t spoken. Not even when he’d learned, as he must have, that it was she who had found his way home.

“Who will be your second, then, if not me?” Silas asked.

“I will,” said Trumpkin, entering the room in full armor. He drew his sword and knelt before Prince Caspian. “If you will have me, sire, I would consider it a great honor.”

Caspian drew his own sword. “The honor is mine,” he said, and touched the tip to each of the dwarf’s shoulders, “ _Sir_ Trumpkin.”

“A moment,” Silas said, as Caspian was about to leave the room. At Caspian’s nod (and with a great many bows), the dwarf took his leave to ready himself for the upcoming duel.

Silas drew a wrapped object from the satchel hanging from his shoulder. “I will need the room in this bag, if I am to come back with my prize,” he said, “and I feel this must now belong to you.” He handed the object over.

Caspian took it and unwrapped it. Queen Susan’s horn. Wide-eyed, the young prince looked up at Silas. “I cannot take this, Your Highness.”

“You can,” Silas assured him, “and if necessary, you will use it.”

“But your parents—”

“—will not be harmed by it,” Silas said. The certainty in his voice almost convinced Jaelyn. Silas clasped Caspian’s shoulder now. “Aslan knew enough to send me when you blew the horn. He will know what to do if it is sounded again. And even if you do not use it, I will rest easier knowing it is in your care.”

Caspian looked dumbfounded. “ I do not know how to thank you.”

“You will thank me by besting Miraz, using our training,” Silas said. “I expect to return with that bowl by moonhigh, tomorrow night. If I do _not_ return...”

Jaelyn’s stomach tumbled over in sudden dread. She heard a crackling of paper, and when she looked down, she realized she had fisted her hands in the fresh parchment in her lap, crushing it.

Silas, hearing the rustle, looked to her. For the merest instant, she glimpsed a terribly unhappy look in his eyes.

He covered it swiftly and returned his attention to Caspian. “You will know what to do,” he added, his voice gruff. And then, in a whoosh of leaves, he swept out of the room.


	24. Thief in the Night

_Cair Paravel, Narnia_   
_1030_

Peter studied Edmund’s sketched plans, spread out on the state room desk. “You’re mad.”

“I’m his father,” Ed said simply. “If we must open a path between wherever Silas is, and where _we_ are, I’d sooner risk myself than any of you.”

Unable to censor the worry in his heart, Peter snapped, “And Asha in the process? Remember last time? What if this spell separates you again?”

Ed winced visibly, but beside him, Asha calmly took her husband’s hand. “I will share his fate, whether we live another fifty years, or five minutes more, Peter. This is our only child, and doing nothing feels so much worse.”

Thinking of Aedan, Peter glanced to his wife, standing beside Susan and Lucy. Cori inclined her head. “You know we would do the same.”

Faintly, bells began clanging. Peter’s head snapped up, toward the faun guard at the door. The faun did not hesitate, but opened the door at once, and called to the pair of guards Peter knew were stationed farther down the hall.

“Fine,” Peter barked. “Ed, gather up whatever you need, for wherever you need to do it. Susan, send Saris to help him. He’ll need all the protection Jinn magic can provide while he attempts this madness. Lucy ...”

“I’ve sent Maddoken to Selbaran already, to see if the other bowl’s there. He’ll bring it back, if it is.”

Peter gave her a brief smile. He rarely needed to explain strategic plans to sensible Lucy.

Everyone began to file out, but by now, guards were calling to one another down the halls. The bells were still ringing.

Something was wrong.

“Go,” Peter ordered them all. “Do what needs to be done.”

Everyone else rushed off, except Cori. She stood at his side, frowning toward the turn at the end of the hall. Her nostrils flared. An instant later, her frown became a joyful smile.

Because a split second after that, Aedan came running down the hall, followed by the guards who had gone to see about the commotion.

“Aedan!” Peter called gladly. They’d had neither sight nor word of him in far too long.

His son didn’t look happy, though, and there were burn marks round his neck over the chain mail mantle. “Mother. Father,” Aedan panted. “Cair’s about to be attacked by Telmarines. Caspian the Second has brought a hundred armed soldiers, maybe five more captains, a general, ten lieutenants.”

Peter went right to the numbers without stopping to question why the Telmarines had suddenly gone hostile. “A hundred troops?”

“Not the problem, I’ll agree,” Aedan said, still gasping from what appeared to be a flat run from wherever he’d been. “He has a Jinn.”

\- # -

_Starshold, Narnia_   
_2303_

Among the many talents of his family, Silas found those of his Uncle Vandelar eminently useful. As a high-seas pirate for most of his long life, Uncle Van was without equal at slithering about undetected. From him, Silas had gleaned the art of getting into (and out of) the most resilient of strongholds through the chinks in their guard.

A feat that was much easier when one had the ability to shift into a “harmless” flurry of leaves.

Castles, even enormous, imposing, nigh-unapproachable ones like Starshold, were still susceptible to winds. And even the most forbidding of castles had arrow slits open to the sky.

Floating high up in the star-strewn evening sky, Silas didn’t worry about light catching his shower of leaves. From here, it would look only like an errant bit of stardust, or perhaps a cluster of fireflies. Even if a guard spotted him, he doubted the bulk of the Telmarines still knew of dryads.

Finding the tower near the rooms that had belonged to Cornelius, Silas circled it, and sensed an arrow slit near the top. In he went.

Circling down, he found a hall. The one guard he passed merely gave the cloud of leaves a scowl and an irritated wave, as if they’d gotten in his face. Silas went on, making certain his motions were as erratic as a drafty castle breeze.

He should have known it was too simple. As he reached the door to Cornelius’s rooms, he found it open.

Inside were three servants and a pair of guards. With his magic, Silas sensed that the servants were gathering all of Cornelius’s books and papers and things—a veritable treasure trove of Narnian artifacts—into crates. His magic told him, as good as eyes, that these objects were irreplaceable.

“Take those down to the burn pile,” one of the soldiers ordered a servant. The old man nodded meekly and made for the doorway.

That crate was done for. Despairing, Silas realized that on top was a history of Narnia. He recognized the book as the one his own father had written after the battle of Cair Bay, and then donated to the library at Beruna. Out the old man walked, carrying a wealth of information bound for destruction.

In a flash, Silas understood Jaelyn’s ferocious defense of anything old. It wasn’t just a dusty book. It was the story of a people. What would anyone know of Old Narnia, if these things were gone forever?

Another crate passed him by, loaded with arrows, as Silas circled the ceiling. And then a third crate.

Inside that one was a cracked, mirrored bowl.

Silas shot downward toward the crate, shifting as he went.

Let Jaelyn handle the lore of her time. He was meant for action.


	25. Combat

Jaelyn watched Miraz and his troops approach, wringing her hands. Not because she worried about Caspian’s prowess in the duel to come. No, her anxious thoughts were all with Silas at Starshold. _What if something happens to him, and he never returns? I didn’t get to say goodbye._

She scanned the forest beyond the marching Telmarines. No Silas. No wisp of leaves. The trees were still, as if they, too, sensed the chaos to come.

Beside her, Caspian squared his shoulders and sighed. She thought she saw him glance toward the forest, too, but there was no worry on his face. “I suppose this is my moment of truth.”

“You will best him, Your Highness,” said Trumpkin with a confident nod.

“Don’t court mishap, Sir Trumpkin,” Caspian replied. “We’re not safe yet.”

Jaelyn remembered her recent practices with Caspian, how he’d kept her chasing after him, all over their sparring grounds, until she was gasping. “Keep him running as long as you can,” she said suddenly.

Caspian’s dark-brown eyes sharpened. He studied her.

“You had me half-knackered by the end of our matches, without losing breath, yourself,” she explained. “He’ll believe you’re afraid to cross swords with him, just as he bought into my letter painting you a coward. He’ll be so busy pursuing you that he’ll tire out before you’re even winded. And maybe it will buy time, so that maybe ... maybe ...”

Caspian smiled, and then surprised her when he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “He _will_ come back,” he promised.

Miraz and his men dismounted from their horses, and took their places at the opposite end of the dueling grounds. Caspian moved toward his own prescribed place.

Suddenly, now that the moment was at hand, Jaelyn’s worry shifted toward her new friend. “Please keep him safe,” she whispered, not intending the plea for anyone in particular, but unable to help seeing Silas’s Aslan in her mind’s eye.

\- # -

_The Stone Table, Narnia_   
_1030_

Edmund could think of no better place to perform the ritual than at the Stone Table. The very power of the place might be enough to do what had to be done.

Since Silas’s disappearance, and Saris’s subsequent revelation that Edmund’s son had vanished in time, Edmund had done little except research the means by which one could travel through time. Saris had destroyed the last of the magical rings that could transport a body to the Wood between the Worlds, so that option was lost to them. There was no certainty that any of the pools in that Wood led to wherever Silas was, anyway, let alone finding the right one. Every pool in that Wood looked just the same as another. Ed shuddered, remembering his last visit to that place, and had no regrets that it was no longer accessible.

On to the task at hand. He placed the cracked mirrored bowl on the Table, and then placed the Basilisk’s Eye inside the vessel. It rolled and caught the sunlight, almost as bewitching as the stare of its former owner.

He had memorized the passage he’d found in an ancient Calormene text in his library. He murmured a plea to Aslan for guidance. Even if he were oceans away, Ed had no doubt the Lion was listening. That done, he began to recite from memory the passage which would pulverize the stone within the bowl.

Too loudly, and there would be nothing left of use. Too softly, and the stone would never crush. Even the accent was sensitive. For days, Ed had practiced the Calormene tongue, with Saris as his tutor. One little slip could mean the end of his hopes. If something went wrong—if he were drawn out of Narnia again.... _I do not care what happens to me,_ he thought resolutely, _only let our son come home safe._

As he spoke the spell, the stone began to tremble. Fine cracks appeared within the flawless crimson jewel, stretching into the clear center like tiny fingers of flame and converging. The Basilisk Eye rattled in the bowl as if trying to resist its destruction. Ed spoke the words louder—just a little, only a little, ever so carefully waiting to speak the next word until he was certain of the inflection.

For a man who despised witchcraft, he thought wryly, he seemed to perform an ample amount of it. With any luck, this would be the last he’d ever have to do.

A swell of comfort spread through him from his center—Asha, reassuring him. He started to smile, but stopped as soon as he realized it might affect his pronunciation. The stone remained still now. He concentrated harder, spoke as loud as he dared.

And then, with a resounding crack, the stone burst apart into a reddish soot that lay in the bottom of the cracked bowl. Ed tipped it, quickly, fearing the dust would slide out of the crack and be lost. _Forgive me, Aslan,_ he thought as he slid onto the edge of the Table to balance the tipped bowl against his leg. Hands free, he withdrew a tinderbox from its pouch on his belt, and hurried to light the flame.

\- # -

_Aslan’s How, Narnia_   
_2303_

Jaelyn could hardly tear her eyes from the circling motions of Caspian’s lithe frame, and the much bigger one of Miraz. The older soldier pressed Caspian hard, not allowing him a moment of rest. She shook with fear for her friend when Caspian went down and missed a blow to the head by a hand’s-breadth. Caspian was using every resource Silas had given him during their training, and more.

“You must come now, Jaelyn,” murmured a voice in her ear, so close she flinched.

Doctor Cornelius tugged at her sleeve, urging her away from the combat grounds. With a last, worried look toward Caspian, who was on his feet but flagging, Jaelyn hurried away into the How.

Inside, Cornelius went straight to his makeshift dispensary, and began preparing concoctions of herbs. Jaelyn sneezed at the pungent scents of alicorn root and faunsfoot leaf. “What are you doing?”

“This mixture must be prepared fresh,” Cornelius said. “I must have it ready when Prince Silas returns with that bowl. If he is successful, we may be able to use the bowl to open a path to his time, and return him thence. I need another pair of hands to mash the faunsfoot leaf. Come, come.”

He spoke urgently, beckoning to her, with a look as if he thought she was as eager as he to return Silas to his time.

Which she was ... or should have been. Or should be. _Oh, Rune ... how did I get so selfish?_

Covering her indecision with action, she hurried to the stone on which Cornelius was pulverizing the herbs. “Let me do that.”

Cornelius handed over the pestle. “My hands are old and cramped,” he murmured. “My skills are not what they were, I fear.”

Used to mashing roots for inks, Jaelyn set herself to the task with a will. Not only did it take Silas’s imminent departure off her mind, it kept her from worrying what was happening right now to Caspian.

Cornelius seemed to read her mind. “I understand the young prince has offered you a position as his scribe. Will you take it?”

“I haven’t thought on it,” she lied.

Chuckling, the old scholar gathered a few flasks. “He admires you. I think, perhaps, he may even be fond of you?” The statement ended like a question, as if Cornelius was testing her reaction.

She shook her head so hard, her hair fluttered in her face. “He’s going to be a good king some day,” she said, making certain she spoke the rank clearly and firmly.

Cornelius made a pensive noise. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “of which king are we now speaking?”

She didn’t answer ... but the eyes which lingered in her memory were moss-green.


	26. When He Bares His Teeth

Silas reached the mirrored bowl inside the crate. No sooner had he shifted to lay hands on it than a guard cried the alarm. _Oh, Lion,_ he thought with resignation, and drew his sword.

A furious battle ensued. The guard harried him all around the room, calling for aid until the second guard, and then another, hurried into the fray. The servants that had remained scurried out of the room at first sight of the conflict.

Silas knew he couldn’t hope to lay hands on that mirrored bowl while in dryad form. He’d need his arms to grab it, to ensure he had it securely before shifting.

He fought with every skill he possessed, but found himself tiring against such odds. Already weary from three days of mock battle with Caspian, he was barely able to keep ahead of the guards. One lunged at him and cut him across the side. Pain shot through him, and he stifled a cry. He shifted once, twice, a third time, desperate to keep them off-balance. As expected, they shouted in terror and dodged back—but he noticed with a grim sort of admiration that they didn’t allow fear to halt their attack. His sword missed a guard’s head and buried itself in the side of a heavy oak bookshelf. He tried wresting it free as the guard came for him again.

No luck.

Silas ducked the swing of the man’s own sword, then kicked at a nearby chair. _Crash,_ and it landed against a desk. _Crash,_ went an hourglass and an armillary onto the floor, tripping one of the guards and nearly upsetting Silas himself. He grabbed for something, anything, to steady his footing, and his grasp found a red-feathered arrow embedded into the pages of a thick manuscript on the desk. He stumbled against the desk, then tore the arrow free and swung at the guard with it. The man leaped back, and Silas used what little room he had to lunge for his sword once more.

This time, it came loose. By then, the guards were on him again. Silas flung the arrow, and it landed as though shot by a crossbow in a guard’s thigh. The man howled and toppled back, giving Silas just enough room to pounce toward the mirrored bowl.

One of the guards got there first. Seeing Silas’s objective, the guard raised his sword with a nasty sneer and prepared to smash the bowl.

 _Oh, no, you don’t._ Silas dropped his sword, regretting it even as he did so, to leap for the bowl. The moment his arms closed around the bowl, he shifted into a storm of leaves and blew past the bewildered guards and into the air.

Away he raced, down the hall, up through a tower, out another arrow slit and into the sky, with nothing but regrets. He had his prize, yes ... but he was now going back to the battle without his sword, and leaving behind a roomful of artifacts that might never see another day.

The magic had made the bowl a part of his shift, ebbing and flowing on the air currents with the rest of him just as it did for his clothing and personal effects. He sensed the bowl, sensed the faint throb of residual magic in it, and prayed it would be enough.

\- # -

Jaelyn hurried back to the entrance of the How, clutching her little leather pouch with its precious contents. Doctor Cornelius hurried along behind her, no doubt worried for the fate of his young charge on the field of combat. Jaelyn was worried, herself. She cared for Caspian ... just not like Doctor Cornelius thought.

Perhaps not like Caspian himself thought, she realized, recalling the young prince kissing her cheek.

She ran, squinting, from shadow into brilliant sunlight as they emerged from the How and ran to the field of combat.

“Coward!” Miraz taunted as Caspian circled the perimeter of their arena. The Lord Protector used the flashing sunlight to full advantage, trying to keep Caspian at such an angle that the sun would glance off Miraz’s armor and blind the young prince.

Doctor Cornelius must have seen the same thing, because his bushy eyebrows drew together, and he gasped.

Jaelyn clutched his sleeve. “The sunlight! He practiced inside! They never trained for that! Why doesn’t he use the leaves?”

“Because he is trying to win fairly,” said the old tutor in a tone of weary resignation.

“Blast his winning fairly!” Jaelyn snapped. “If Miraz won’t fight fairly, why should Caspian not use _his_ advantages?”

“Because, my young friend,” Cornelius said, “he is trying to be the example the Old Narnians would want as a king.”

Jaelyn wrung the straps of the little leather pouch fretfully in his hands. “There must be something we can do!”

“There is,” said a familiar voice.

Jaelyn yelped and spun around, wide-eyed. Several steps away stood Silas, holding the mirrored bowl and wearing a grim, resolute expression.

Jaelyn ran to him with a cry and flung her arms around him. He grunted in what sounded like discomfort, and she pulled back to find her arm covered in blood. More stained the side of his tunic. “Silas! You’re hurt!”

“Yes, but we’ve no time to mend it,” he said, pale and panting. “I’ve just flown over the bridge crossing the river. Miraz has more troops coming. I think he may have pulled them from Archenland. We’re going to have to fight whether Caspian wins or not.”

“What can we do?” she cried.

The way Silas clamped his arm to his side, he must have been hurting more than he let on. Jaelyn’s heart squeezed painfully.

“Come,” said Doctor Cornelius. “We have prepared the powder for the bowl.”

“How? What did you use?”

“Alicorn root and faunsfoot leaf. Very rare herbs. I had been saving them for many years. I have little left that is of real magical use ... but these, I gladly give you.” Cornelius pointed at Silas’s injury. “Will you not let me help to heal you?”

Instead of answering him, Silas turned to observe Caspian on the field of combat. “How is he faring?”

“Tiring, but he has been using most of your combined skills, as well as a very good suggestion of Jaelyn’s.”

Silas’s gaze shot toward her, and a very gratifying thrill of pleasure ran through her at that look of approval in his eyes. But the thrill drained away when she looked again at the bloody tear in his tunic. Then she noticed his scabbard was empty. “What happened to your sword?”

“I lost it battling my way out of Starshold. It’s no matter.”

He spoke calmly, but a faint line appeared between his brows as he watched Caspian trading blows with Miraz. In spite of Caspian’s dogged bravery, even Jaelyn could tell he was flagging. “Call a respite!” she cried.

“Why?” said Cornelius and Silas together.

“Do it! I’ll be back in a moment!” She darted toward the How.

Heedless of stares, she rushed to Silas’s quarters and found the bundle she’d sought. She picked up King Edmund’s shield, and gamely dragged it all back out of the How.

The two armies watched each other warily from their sides of the combat ground, while the combatants themselves rested at the edges of the field with their seconds.

Jaelyn hurried to Silas as fast as the weight of the bundles would let her go. “Your father’s sword,” she gasped out, “and his shield.”

Silas smiled for the first time since his return. “Brilliant thinking, Jaelyn.”

She beamed back, and for a moment, there was no battle, no looming conflict with the Telmarines. Just the two of them, standing there together ... and it was almost enough.

But she knew he had to go.

 _I won’t think on it,_ she swore to herself, trying to ignore the tightness in her throat. _Not until the very last moment._ This time, it was she who looked away first.

“What is the other item in the bundle?” asked Cornelius.

Still fighting tears, Jaelyn unwrapped it. The lion-headed pommel caught the sunlight, and Cornelius gasped once more.

“Brilliant again!” Silas said, and his voice rang with that approval. She felt that same thrill, and realized how dangerous it was that she longed for that tone in his voice. “If anything will intimidate that Lord Protector,” Silas added, “it will be Caspian holding the fabled Rhindon! Why I didn’t think of that before ....” He snatched up the sword to bring it to the combat field.

Jaelyn watched him go with the uncomfortable feeling that Cornelius was watching her with sad, knowing eyes.


	27. Parallel

_Cair Paravel, Narnia_   
_1030_

Aedan looked over the battlements at the group of Telmarine soldiers gathering on the plain before the castle. “I don’t think they’re going to be willing to honor a parley, Father.”

“I doubt it,” Peter agreed, “but we’ve withstood invasions from forces more numerous than this. What can they possibly hope to achieve?”

Aedan watched his father’s mind spinning. The High King’s eyes scoured the assembling Telmarines as they lined up in a long row facing the castle. Possibly the worst battle formation Aedan had ever seen. His skin prickled with apprehension.

Beside them stood Saris. “Something is not right.”

The soldiers, as one, reached into the knapsacks hanging at their sides and withdrew shining objects that they held in both hands. Their swords remained, unregarded, in their scabbards. Aedan frowned. “What in the Lion’s name ... ?”

“Jinn!” Saris cried. “Rally the dryads!” In an instant, he transformed into his own Jinn form, and soared down over the battlements.

But he was too late.

Clouds of bluish smoke emerged from each shining object in each soldier’s hands—lamps of brass or gold or silver, Aedan saw, squinting. And the smoke clouds resolved, each of them, into a fearsome Jinn.

Aedan stared at his father in horror. Peter looked back, only for an instant, before turning to call for Asha. But not before Aedan saw a matching horror in his father’s eyes.

\- # -

“Come on, come on,” Edmund said under his breath, though there was no one to hear. He’d seen the Telmarine soldiers advancing toward Cair, and was instantly glad he’d decided to travel to the Stone Table alone. He knew this country, and could slip past them undetected. He knew he should turn back toward Cair. The troops he’d seen had no good intentions, of that he was certain ... but the pulverized Basilisk’s Eye would be useless in a few moments, unless he could get his damned tinder to light.

He flicked it again, shooting sparks at the reddish dust in the bowl. “Please,” he whispered.

One spark caught in the soot. He blew on it at once. His heart leaped as a tongue of flame flickered to life. Fearing it might somehow go out, he leaned in and called, “Silas!”

Nothing.

“Silas! Answer me!”

\- # -

 _Aslan’s How, Narnia_  
 _2303_

Jaelyn yelped and whirled around, looking for the owner of the faint voice.

No one. Even Doctor Cornelius had gone, hurrying with Silas to the edge of the combat ground to watch Caspian in his awful dance of sword and shield with Lord Protector Miraz. Jaelyn herself hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away from her tiring friend and his opponent.

“For the love of Aslan, Silas!”

Jaelyn bit her tongue and looked frantically around. The voice rang so faintly and so hollowly that it might have come from the bottom of a well.

But it was coming from the mirrored bowl, still lying in the grass where Silas had put it.

Jaelyn hurried to the bowl and picked it up, mystified. When it didn’t speak again, she rolled it gently, looking for any clue to what she’d just heard. _Thought_ she’d heard, unless she’d gone mad. A wisp of smoke drifted around inside the vessel. Looking closely, she saw a few grains of what looked like reddish sand trickle down into the bottom of the bowl from where they’d been caught in the crack.

With a gasp, she set the bowl down—carefully, so as not to allow those few grains to spill out. With shaking fingers, she opened the leather pouch Cornelius had given her, and spilled its contents into the bowl.

They caught flame at once. “Who are you? Are you there? Hello?”

Nothing answered her. She moaned, despairing that she’d somehow snuffed the voice out.

“Silas!”

She jumped, almost spilling the herbs but catching herself at the last instant. “Hello! Hello, he’s here! Well, not him, but me!”

“Where is he? Who are you?”

The voice thundered at her, and she gave a little, intimidated yelp. “Are you ... his father?”

“Tell me where he is!”

“Um ... it’s ... 2303,” she whimpered. “This is ... Aslan’s How,” she added uncertainly.

“Tell me he’s all right,” the voice said. _“Please.”_

The pain in the voice squeezed her heart. “He’s all right ... Your Majesty.”

The answering sigh was audible. Reeling at how she could almost feel his relief, she added, “Do you want me to go get him?”

“No! No, don’t leave. I don’t know if this will stay lit. Call to him, if you can, but don’t leave the bowl. And, whoever you are ... thank you.”

“My name is Jaelyn, Your Majesty,” she said, hugging the bowl protectively to her body. She looked up. “Silas! _Silas!_ ”

But he was busy. In the moments since her distraction, Miraz had fallen. There was no joy, no celebration.

For the Telmarine army was moving into formation. Jaelyn knew little of the life of a soldier ... but even she could recognize war on the horizon.

“Y-Your Majesty?” she faltered. “Are you still there?”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, clearly sensing her terror.

“There’s about to be a b-battle,” she stammered. Her heartbeat pounded so, she could barely catch her breath. Had her bumbling somehow helped this to happen? What if she’d composed a better writ of challenge? What if she’d doomed Silas and Caspian and their people with her carelessness? “I don’t know what to d-do,” she said, blinded by welling tears.

“Get to safety,” the voice said at once. “Guard the bowl. Keep the flame lit as long as you can. It may be his only way home.”

“What will _you_ do?” she asked, marveling at the composure in the king’s voice, so similar to Silas’s tone when putting a plan in motion.

“I’m going to find a Jinn.”


	28. Hide and Seek

Jaelyn ran to the How, clutching the bowl and trying, as she rushed along, to keep the smoking soot from spilling out through the crack in the vessel’s mirrored surface. _Guard the bowl,_ Silas’s father had said, and guard it she would, for as long as possible.

Soldiers ignored her mad rush inside. They stared from left and right, and someone shouted for her to get below and to safety along with the other gentlefolk. Deep underground, she knew, there were a few Narnians who were too young, too old, or too inexperienced to face the upcoming battle. Caspian and Silas had agreed that the How’s deepest catacombs would be their safest refuge until the conflict with the Telmarines was decided. She knew for certain that Silas had tried to order her to the catacombs as well, after ordering her away to Archenland didn’t work.

The demand that she retreat to the catacombs hadn’t worked, either.

 _Stubborn, mulish know-it-all! Are all monarchs that way, or is it just him?_ She winced as she thought it, as if Silas’s father might somehow overhear her thoughts from the other side of their tenuous connection. She might get her tongue in order someday, but her thoughts remained as mutinous as Rune had always said they were.

She stopped in her own chamber to scrape together her few things in a frantic hurry. From there, she ran to the chamber with the huge bas-relief of Aslan on the ceiling and the army of little flames carved across one of the walls. Without lamp or candle, the room remained in such darkness that she feared one misstep might bring her smashing into the wall. She trod carefully, and then, when she was sure she’d reached the farthest corner, she blew on the soot inside the bowl.

A gentle glow confirmed the connection still there, but it threw a light only strong enough to illuminate the vessel itself. How long would she have to remain here, in near-total darkness? She sank to the floor and set the bowl beside her, shivering, waiting ... for Silas’s father to speak, for Silas to return. Neither happened.

Faintly, she heard the thunder of troops on the march. Her throat tightened with terror, and she hugged her knees. Their own people ... or the Telmarines?

Dim torchlight loomed in the doorway. “Hello? Is anyone in here?” called a familiar voice.

Caspian.

Jaelyn shrank back against the wall, flipping her hood over her head and huddling down. With luck, he might see her shape as a pile of discarded rags, and be on his way.

“Sire, we’re in position,” said another voice. “You must hurry!”

“I am looking for ... others ... who may have been left behind,” Caspian said.

Mystified, she peeked from under her hood. In the faint light, she caught the worry on his features. Did he mean _her_? She nearly got up ... but what if Silas should come back, come looking for the mirrored bowl, and not find his only way home? What if she left the flame untended, and it died out? Furtively, hating to hide from her friend, she pushed the bowl behind her cloak to shield any faint light it might show from within.

“Sire, please. The Telmarines are almost upon us,” insisted the other voice.

Caspian scowled, clearly not wanting to abandon his search. He hesitated, but at last, he went.

Teary-eyed, she watched the torchlight fade with him, feeling like she’d abandoned a true friend.

And, besides Rune, how many of those could she say she had?

But she’d promised herself to help get Silas home ... and she could only do that if she got the mirrored bowl to him. And King Edmund wanted her to guard it. She’d never done a single courageous thing in her life, and it wasn’t even about courage now.

She needed to do it, because she loved him.

Choking on her tears, she huddled closer against the wall. What business had she, falling for someone so far out of reach? She’d be better off going back to Archenland, to her dusty closet with her manuscripts and inks. Forgetting that she’d ever been lucky enough to meet him.

Forgetting love.

Anxious and hurting, she waited, the beat of the distant march echoing the thumping of her heart. The thundering grew louder, sounding from inside the How this time. The Narnians were on the move.

And then, there was a terrible, ground-shaking rumble. The noise of battle came much nearer, and now, daylight spilled into the room from somewhere outside.

Frightened, she glanced around. An earthquake?

Whatever it was had opened a small crevice in the base of the wall, almost the width of her body but still too tiny to use it to hide herself. And the sounds of battle came much nearer now. Voices approached, and they weren’t speaking in the Narnian tongue.

Telmarines!

She glanced frantically at the crevice. Too small for herself, yes ... but not for the bowl.

She stripped off her flimsy cloak, then shoved the bowl inside the crevice and her cloak after it. A moment later, two Telmarine soldiers appeared in the doorway. They looked battered and angry and spoiling for a fight. She couldn’t make out their murmured words to one another.

But there was no mistaking the aggression in their posture as they came for her.

One of the soldiers snatched her by her robes. Jaelyn screamed and kicked, but she was no match for the strength of even one of them. They dragged her outside to the daylight.

\- # -

_Cair Paravel, Narnia_   
_1030_

Aedan grimaced. “I’d better get down there.”

Peter frowned, but he knew he had to let his son go. Aedan might be young in years, but he was a man now, and a proven soldier. Peter nodded. “Find Humrubble and take the right flank.”

As Aedan left, Peter almost wished he hadn’t raised his son to be the soldier he was. He knew all too well how Edmund felt, worrying for his child.

He turned to the faun standing at his right. “Aiolos, you’re in charge up here. Wait until they close in, then fire at the soldiers.” He glanced grimly at the line of men wielding the lamps. “Take out the masters, and you’ll take out the Jinn.” Peter whirled to the door leading down into the castle, thanking Aslan for his brother-in-law Saris and his teachings about the ways of the Jinn. No Jinn rendered masterless would continue to fight ... save one, and he would die for Susan if need be.

Peter hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “Ed, where in blazes are you?” he muttered.

\- # -

Edmund had his own set of problems. He’d ridden a dumb horse out from Cair, and wished every step of the way back that Phillip or Leina were still alive. They had each passed away some time ago ... but even in their old age, they had still been faster than this frustrating slow pace. He’d seen the signs of an army on the march, but he couldn’t risk a gallop. The wind and the jostling both might spell disaster to the little flame still clinging to the soot in the cracked bowl in his arm.

He scanned the trees for any sign of dryad or Talking Beast, but everything remained deadly still, the forest emptied of life as if all Narnians had fled to the castle in its time of danger. Ed approved of that, even as he longed for just one Bird to carry a message to Saris.

But then, Saris would be needed at Cair. Ed had refused his company on this trip. The problems of Narnia took precedent, even over the retrieval of Edmund and Asha’s son. He gritted his teeth and urged his horse just a little faster.

Ed would be needed, too. The very evidence of this invading force’s small size troubled him. They had bothered neither to hide their numbers and presence, nor to respect the land in which they camped. Trees razed down, fires not snuffed out. That meant they cared nothing for Narnia, and felt sure their disrespect wouldn’t be challenged.

They had some advantage.

How? How could this have happened? Hadn’t Aslan promised them peace? Strong bonds with their allies?

Oh, Lion. Caspian the First must know nothing of this rebellion. And if Narnia lost, it might affect their chance to bring Silas home from that formless future where he was trapped.

Ed leaned over the horse’s neck and did his best to shield the bowl from wind and jolting. He kicked the horse’s sides. “Go!”

\- # -

 _Aslan’s How, Narnia_  
 _2303_

Silas hadn’t worried for Narnian victory when he delivered the writ of challenge to Miraz and his officers. The Telmarine lords, Sopespian in particular, had watched Silas and his party with suspicion.

Suspicion which Silas and the Wakened dryads had done their level best to turn to fear.

And it worked. When Caspian proposed the plan to entrap the Telmarines in a caved-in section of tunnels on the grounds before the How, Silas and Caspian’s generals agreed that it was the best plan to limit casualties. The faster this battle ended, the better for the Old Narnians. The Telmarines, seeing the dryads spilling from the forest to surround the cave-in, fought with terror in their eyes and in their hearts.

Fear was often a greater asset than numbers.

Battle escalated after that, and Silas fought, just as he’d promised, alongside Prince Caspian. The young prince was brave, and had managed to dispatch a Telmarine captain and win his horse. Mounted and mobile, he helped Silas cow the remaining Telmarines into defeat.

All of it happened in a blur for Silas, who couldn’t shake an entirely different worry from the back of his mind. Was Jaelyn safe? The stubborn little fool had resisted his every effort to send her away.

Caspian found him in the middle of the battlefield. He rode up on the big chestnut horse. Its paler mane was streaked with lather. “Are you all right?”

Still breathing hard, Silas nodded. He wiped a trickle of blood from his cheek. “The officers?”

“Sopespian is dead. Glozelle has surrendered, and the others are following.”

Silas met the young prince’s gaze, unable to help the worry spreading like a canker through his insides.

Caspian’s eyes went soft. “I have not seen her.”

Sick with dread, Silas sheathed his father’s sword.

Caspian seemed to remember something, and made to hand him Rhindon.

Silas struggled to turn his mind from Jaelyn. “No,” he said. “It’s yours now.”

“I cannot take it.”

“You can. It belongs to the King of Narnia.” Silas managed to find a smile. “That would be you.”

With an answering smile, Caspian leaned down from the horse. The two clasped hands. After a moment, Caspian sat upright again. “I must find General Glenstorm.”

Silas nodded and watched Caspian go. The moment the prince rode away, Silas shifted into his dryad form and flew to the How, searching.


	29. Learned Scribe

Jaelyn struggled furiously, but it was just as futile as it had been since they’d abducted her. The Telmarines had tied her hands and thrown a sack over her head, and were speaking their native language. She was lucky if she caught every third word. Translating a dusty old Telmarine manuscript was all well and good, but it helped not at all when hearing the language spoken, with accents and rapidity of speech thrown into the mix.

And so, she waited. Caspian had taught her that, among all things, patience was most important when faced with an adversary. Patience wore down fear ... of which she had no shortage. Patience also increased her focus on details.

What a shame Rune wasn’t here to see that she’d finally learned that particular lesson.

The details she sought now had nothing to do with lettering and illumination. No—these details included minor clinks and sloshes that indicated they were nearby a river, and that one of the men had gone to fill a bucket. They included the swish of leaves in the wind. Still nearby a forest, then, though she heard nothing indicating the movement of dryads.

At the thought of dryads, tears sprang to her eyes again. She turned her mind forcefully from that subject.

What could these Telmarines possibly want with a prisoner that wasn’t even a Narnian? When they questioned her, she spat out an insult in her native Archenland dialect, with its inflection clearly unlike either Narnian or Telmarine languages. They must know she wasn’t Narnian. They hadn’t had the time to carry her far, so she must still be within a few hours’ walk of Aslan’s How.

Why her? Why?

Only when the scent of cooking meat indicated mealtime (though they didn’t offer any to her) did she receive her answer. Her captors, clearly tired and overwrought by the events of the day, had fallen to arguing. It seemed they expected some kind of ransom from the Narnians, if Jaelyn’s poor grasp of their spoken language was any use. She strained to hear, and was rewarded with the clear use of the word “her.”

Meaning _her._ Her captors expected to fetch a tidy sum for her because they’d seen her with Caspian and Silas both. They suspected her to have special significance to their enemies, a lure that might bring the Telmarines either wealth or a chance at retribution for their defeat on the battlefield.

Still blinded by the sack—and glad to be invisible to them just now—she wrestled against a fresh wave of tears. She’d never been of special significance to anyone. Not _that_ way. And the one man to whom she wanted such significance was so far out of her reach, she might as well ask for the stars in the sky.

 _All right, Jaelyn Lumen. Enough of your wailing,_ she scolded herself, and then she smiled at how much that chastising voice in her head sounded like Rune. _You are going to find a way out of this. You’ve seen a bit of the world ... and now you know how to use a knife._

She thought, with sudden eagerness, of the quill knife in her scribe’s kit. A short but sturdy little blade. The Telmarine who’d snatched her out of the How had made quick work of stripping away her pouches and purses, looting her of her few possessions. He’d stowed them with his own knapsack before dismissing her to his cohort’s care. Neither had seemed too concerned with how carefully they restrained her.

They must think her helpless. She smiled again and worked at the bindings on her wrists.

How wrong they were.

\- # -

Silas returned to his human shape as soon as he reached the How. The Telmarines had damaged the entrance with trebuchet fire. The Narnians were working to haul away stones even now.

A trickle of Old Narnians waited at the entrance to be escorted out as the huge stones were moved aside. They had escaped the Telmarines in the How’s deepest catacombs, and a Bird was sent to tell them when it was safe to emerge. All had gone according to their plan. Caspian’s Narnia was free.

Silas found no joy in it.

He squeezed past the line waiting to exit. “Jaelyn? _Jaelyn!_ ” He dodged past a female satyr with her children. _“Jaelyn!”_

Deeper into the How he went, shouting himself hoarse and choking on floating dust kicked up by recent battle and the exodus of refugees. His side ached. He’d taken a mace blow that might have broken ribs if he hadn’t shifted fast enough to avoid the worst of it.

Old Narnians hurried past him, giving him nods of respectful greeting, but they were clearly focused on getting outside. As they filed out, Silas went deeper into the How. The crowd thinned.

At last, he came to the room where Aslan’s silhouette had been carved on the ceiling.

And her scent hit him.

His senses sharpened at once, and he inhaled that dusty-book, ink-laden aroma as though it were the most expensive perfume. “Jaelyn?”

Nothing. The room was em—

No, not totally empty. The scent came from the corner, where a bundle of cloth had been stuffed in a crack in the wall.

Silas sprang toward it and pulled it out. Jaelyn’s cloak. And behind it, hidden, the mirrored bowl.

He clenched his hands in the flimsy cloth, breathing in the smell of her. She wouldn’t have left the bowl, not unless something terrible had happened to her.

Pain punched through him, too sharp and shocking to be the ache from the mace blow. And Silas could no longer deny it.

He didn’t want a dryad. He wanted Jaelyn, that stubborn, sharp-tongued little nuisance of a human who gave him nothing but torment.

And tormented he was, gasping for breath past the squeezing sensation around his lungs. Where was she? What had happened to her? He scanned the room, looking for clues, but found nothing in the stone floor to guide him. He snatched up the bowl, noting the smoke circling in its bottom. “Hello?”

Faint, rhythmic beats answered him, as of a running horse. His stomach flipped. The connection was open! Silas called again, but no one answered him.

Cradling the bowl under one arm and Jaelyn’s cloak in the other, he hurried back outside.

Doctor Cornelius and Caspian met him among the throng of Narnians cleaning up the battle damage. “Your Highness! It is a relief to see you,” Cornelius called.

“Have you seen Jaelyn? Anywhere? _Have you seen her?_ ” Silas blurted.

Caspian’s brow furrowed. His anxious look mirrored the roiling uneasiness in Silas’s own heart. “We will search at once,” Caspian said. He called a pair of soldiers from their tasks, and instructed them to search the battlefield. To a third, he began to give orders to search the How.

“I’ve done that. She’s not inside,” Silas said.

Caspian’s alarm drove home the realization that Silas wasn’t the only one who cared for her. He pushed aside an irritating snap of jealousy in the face of the much bigger worry of where Jaelyn had gone—voluntarily or otherwise.

“Your Highness,” Cornelius said to Silas, pointing to the bowl with a look of apology, “the sun will be setting. If we are to send you home, it must be done soon. Those herbs will not last much longer, and they are all I had.”

Silas looked down at the bowl and cursed under his breath. He glared at Cornelius, daring him to object. “I’m not leaving until we find her.” He pushed the bowl into Cornelius’s hands. Without waiting for the others, he rushed off to resume his search.

\- # -

Jaelyn heard no sounds from her Telmarine captors. It had been some time since their meal. With any luck, they’d settled for the night. She worked at her bonds silently, patiently, refusing to give way to the nagging fears that nipped at the edges of her resolve.

At last, success! She worked the ties free and rubbed some feeling back into her wrists. She pulled the sack from her head.

The light was dim under the trees where they’d stowed her. Not far off, both her captors slept in an untidy heap next to a pile of things looted from the battle. The scent of wine hung heavy in the air.

On top of the pile lay her scribe’s kit. Excitement flared in her belly. Did she dare try to retrieve that knife?

 _Aslan, if you’re listening, wish me luck._ She tiptoed toward the stash of goods.

Luck, it seemed, was with her for now. She reached the pile and pulled her scribe’s kit from it.

But then one of the soldiers awoke.

He spied her and cried the alarm, but his sleeping companion must have been too drunk to respond. Jaelyn flung open the case and jerked out the quill knife as the first soldier came tottering toward her. Drunk, too, probably dumb enough to loot a flask of that that fauns’ wine. So much the better. As he neared her with every evidence of expecting her to cower, she pounced at him, knife first, aiming for his face.

A terrible shriek met her ears, and the soldier dodged backward, covering his face. Jaelyn didn’t wait to see where she’d struck.

She ran.


	30. The Spirit Tree

Silas raced around the How and its grounds, now human, now a dryad, growing more frantic with each pass. He returned to his human form in the middle of a clearing. _“Jaelyn!”_ he screamed with what remained of his voice. His echo wandered sadly off among the trees, unanswered. The wood had emptied of all Talking Beasts, who had gone either to help in the recent battle or to shelter in the depths of the How. It was as if the forest had swallowed Jaelyn whole.

The forest. Damn the forest! The Narnian dryads, still weak from their long sleep and recent fighting, had to return to their homes to rest, and could not help him, either. Just one Selbarani dryad could have aided him in his search ... but there were none to be had in this Narnia, save him.

“Jaelyn!” His voice cracked. He searched through the trees, hoping, even though his heart sank. He rubbed at his face, ignoring the smear of blood from the cut on his cheek, welcoming the pain of the wound.

It helped make other pain bearable.

Hoofbeats approached. Silas turned to find Caspian riding toward him, accompanied by a small guard. He frowned. “I am sorry, Silas. We have not found her. Have you had any luck?”

Silas stared at the grass at his feet, seeing Jaelyn’s face in his mind’s eye and the way each cinnamon-colored freckle stood out in her pale skin.

Luck? No. From now on, he’d consider himself cursed for not throwing it all to the wind and following his feelings from the start.

“No,” he responded.

Caspian looked terribly unhappy. “I am sorry,” he began again.

“Stop it. Stop apologizing,” he said, snappish and unrepentant for it. He wanted someone to be angry with him, to blame him. Apology wouldn’t bring her back.

Caspian seemed to sense his intentions, but he went on. “Doctor Cornelius says that if you are to go, he must begin. We are out of time.”

 _I’ve been out of time since I got here,_ Silas thought, feeling hollow. He lifted his gaze to the forest one more time. “Jaelyn!” he called.

Still nothing.

She would have come, if she were alive and had heard him. He’d searched for the entire afternoon. She’d never have left the grounds near the How without them. Without him.

If she were alive.

He closed his eyes against the aching rush filling him.

“Your Highness?” Caspian called softly.

Silas opened his eyes. Resigned, he nodded. “Lead on.”

\- # -

Caspian and Cornelius were whispering about him, about whether they ought to send him home when he clearly wanted to stay to find Jaelyn. Silas could hear them, but he shut his ears to the whispers. The army and most of the Old Narnians had begun the long march to Starshold. Only a small force remained behind to guard Narnia’s new crown prince. Caspian had asked for privacy and been granted it so they could send Silas home. They chose a field in front of the How.

While Cornelius prepared his materials, Caspian approached Silas, who stood in the long, tread-matted grass. Caspian gave him a searching look. “Are you sure?”

Silas managed a nod. There was no reason to stay now. Not if ... He couldn’t finish the thought.

Caspian looked uneasy, but he met Silas’s gaze gamely. “I do not know how to thank you.”

Silas drew a deep breath and struggled to steady his voice. He didn’t fully succeed. “Look for her.”

To his credit, Caspian didn’t call attention to Silas’s pain with another offer to stay. “I will. For as long as it takes.” The two clasped hands, and then, surprising him, Caspian hugged him. “You are a true friend, Your Highness.”

Silas smiled, and it wasn’t entirely forced. “You can call me Silas ... since we’re friends.”

Caspian gave a small laugh. “They’re already writing songs about you, you know. They’ve named you Treecaller.”

Silas stuffed the ache of leaving down deep. “I’ll try to live up to it.”

Cornelius came forward, holding the mirrored bowl. “It is time, Your Highness.”

Silas handed his father’s sword and shield to Caspian, who already wore Rhindon at his side. “Take care of them, Caspian.”

“It will be my honor.”

Cornelius set the bowl before Silas. “Goodbye, Your Highness.”

“Goodbye, Master Tutor. You will make a fine advisor to the king.”

Cornelius bowed deeply, then he and Caspian backed away. Silas could no longer hear it, but Cornelius’s lips began moving as he whispered the words of the spell that would send Silas home.

From its place in the grass, the bowl began to glow. Streamers of light spilled outward from the vessel in graceful arcs and curlicues, lighting the trodden grass with their magic as they approached Silas. Wider and wider they circled round him, until at last they converged on him in a shimmering shell. The magic prickled under his skin like static, and finally the glowing streams arced upward, enveloping him completely. Overhead, they surged out in the shape of a birch tree’s crown, a shining, translucent apparition of the tree that represented his dryad heritage. From inside it, he could still see Caspian and Cornelius, rippling as though he viewed them from underwater. The glow surged higher, fiercely bright. Looking up, Silas made out sparkling leaves springing forth from the branches of the magical tree. A wind he couldn’t feel set the leaves blowing even as new vines of light raced up its trunk. The rippling figures of Caspian and Cornelius seemed smaller now, farther away.

And then, faintly, Silas heard a girl shouting his name. “Silas! _Silas!_ ”

Running toward him was Jaelyn, her hair flying wildly on the wind and her robes in stained disarray. Caspian gave a surprised shout and gestured as if he wanted Cornelius to stop the spell.

Jaelyn rushed to the spirit tree. This close, the anguish in her tear-filled eyes was all too clear.

_Jaelyn. Alive._

Silas’s heart gave an agonizing thud. He tried to push toward her, but the shining shell of magic would not give. “Jaelyn!” He slammed his body against the wall. The static sharpened, resisting him, trapping him as though he watched her from the other side of a watery pane of glass. He screamed her name and slammed himself against the wall again. Pain snapped through him, but the spell wouldn’t release him.

She pressed her hands against the spirit tree, sobbing. “Don’t go!” She turned to shout at Cornelius and Caspian. “Stop this! You have to stop this!”

Cornelius spread his hands, looking miserable. “I cannot, once the spell has begun. I am so very sorry, child.”

Jaelyn pounded on the shimmering wall. “Silas, please don’t leave! I want you to stay!”

The pain in her voice ripped through him. He hammered at the wall with his fists, but it wouldn’t break no matter how he tried. And the world outside his shell began to fade. First the How, then Caspian and Cornelius rippled out of sight. Panting, Silas pressed his palms against the wall as if he could feel her hands on the other side of it. “Jaelyn, I can’t get out!”

Tears poured down her cheeks. She pressed her forehead against the wall of the spirit tree even as the edges of her silhouette became indistinct.

Silas leaned his head against the wall on the other side. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Sniffing, red-eyed, she stroked her fingers over the wall where his palm pressed against it. “Silas, I ...”

But the rest of her words were silenced as she faded from sight, too.


	31. Out of Time

Numb, Jaelyn sank to her knees in the grass. Through her tears, she saw her own reflection in the bottom of the mirrored bowl, backed by the glow of sunset. No herbs remained; they had all burned away.

She could not follow him.

All was silent, but for the breeze rippling through the trampled field. She stared at the reflection of her face in the bowl, streaked with grime, tearstains, and grief. An unrecognizable face. _So, this is what a broken heart looks like._

She could go home now. Anvard was surely safe, since the Old Narnians had won the battle against the Telmarines. But home seemed so much smaller. So much emptier. She’d be reminded every day that there, she’d first met Silas, through his words on crumbling parchment.

Why? Why would fate have sent him here and made her fall for him, only to snatch him away again?

“Jaelyn,” came a soft voice.

She looked up. Caspian stared down at her, his brow furrowed, his mouth drawn into a frown, his dark eyes soft with sympathy.

It was enough to break the dam and draw forth a fresh flood of tears. She hugged herself hard, trying to keep all her pieces together, but the effort was futile.

Caspian knelt beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed, unable to help it. “I’m sorry,” Caspian whispered. She barely heard him, but he let her stay there with her arms around him until no more tears would come.

At last, he pulled gently back, and the look in his eyes was no longer just sympathy. There was a little pain there, too. “You loved him, after all. Truly.”

Sniffling, nodding, she wiped at her cheeks with the sleeve of her robes.

“I might have known,” Caspian murmured. He nodded, then got to his feet and helped her up. “I can’t return him here, but I can provide you a home and comfort, should you want to stay at Starshold. Will you consider it?” There was a catch in his voice as he said it.

Regretfully, she shook her head. “I should go home to Anvard. Master Rune will be worried about me, and I have my duty.”

“Duty,” Caspian echoed. “Yes, you are right.” He straightened his shoulders. “I must begin the march to Starshold and settle with my advisors. I will arrange an armed escort for you. I’m sorry I cannot go with you myself—”

She found a smile. “Don’t apologize,” she interrupted gently. “We all have our places.”

He clasped her hands. That look came into his eyes again, the one that made her think what might have been if she decided to stay, whether she could be happy here. “Don’t forget me,” he murmured.

“I couldn’t,” she assured him. “I will think of you every time I smell chocolate.”

He smiled. “I will send some every Christmas.” He gave her hands a last squeeze, then moved away to speak with one of his officers, who waited nearby.

\- # -

_Cair Paravel, Narnia_   
_1030_

Edmund nearly galloped headlong into the flank of the Telmarines arrayed before the gates of Cair. He had burst out of the woods an instant before, and his mount gave a snort of protest as he pulled it up sharp.

One of the soldiers spied him and cried the alarm. Ed’s horse reared. The bowl jostled in his grasp. He looked down to right it, and in that instant, the flame burned a last, bright gasp and then died. “No,” he whispered, choking on the word.

But the soldiers were coming.

Grimly, grieving, he wheeled the horse and ran back toward the forest. The bowl was useless to him now, but he dared not let it slip. If it fell into their hands and they had some means of using it, they might use it as a weapon.

A wind rushed past him, blowing leaves of oak. “Get Arrow!” he called, drawing Wandbreaker from its sheath.

As he reached a tiny glade, the three soldiers who’d given him chase were on him. Ed parried the first blow, but only just. The bowl hampered his movement, and he’d had no time to stow it in a saddlebag. His horse, unused to battle, shied, and he nearly took a sweeping blow to his leg. He backed the animal against a stand of beech and parried another blow as his mind spun. The soldiers surrounded him, masked like demons from some tragic play.

This was it, then. He’d die never seeing his son again, and only minutes away from his family when they needed him. He locked his stare on the closest soldier’s weapon, gauging how it would fall and whether he could catch it with his own. As it came down, he readied himself. _Aslan, please let me die bravely. Let Asha die painlessly._

Wind rushed past him, and the clang of sword on sword was like a shock of cold water. His own sword arm had not moved.

The soldiers fell back, their horses in a panic. The riders hacked at the air, suddenly full of leaves, and a scent filled the glade which Ed could not fail to recognize.

His son.

The choking sensation in his throat nearly closed off his air. Ed sucked in as much breath as he could, then kicked his horse’s sides.

The animal charged forward. Ed used the momentum to cut down the first of the soldiers, then bolted straight past the other two. “To Cair!” he cried.

With a full heart, he followed the cloud of birch leaves, not knowing how Silas had returned, but unwilling to let the flurry of leaves out of his sight. _Thank you, Aslan. Thank you for everything. Whatever else comes, thank you for returning him to us._

And now, he saw, galloping back onto the plain, there would be no more time for thought or thanks. A line of Jinn streamed, smoking-blue, before the castle gates, each of them with a soldier behind him carrying a lamp like a talisman. Horrified, Ed saw a man in gleaming armor stride out, unafraid, in front of them to face the castle. “Come out, Peter!” the man screamed, his voice high and cracking with wild fury. “Come out, you outlander scum! You know I’ll just mow you down with my Jinn army! You don’t belong here, and you never did!”

Ed glanced toward the leaf-cloud, and knew that his son must be as worried as he. There wasn’t enough magic in all of Narnia to fight a horde of Jinn this large, all of them aimed like deadly catapults at the gates of Cair. They could raze the castle in moments if their masters bade them to do it.

Ed kicked at his horse’s sides again. “Run, blast it, run!” he shouted, his every nerve straining toward the white marble walls of the castle. His last thought as the animal charged headlong toward the army was, simply, _Please_.


	32. Future Memory

_Please let me change what’s coming,_ Silas thought as he rushed along on the wind. In his mind, he saw the rows and rows of blue flamelets on the walls of Aslan’s How. He saw the ruin of Cair Paravel, no more than a rubble of stones strewn on a lonely island at the edge of the sea. He saw the marble statues of his father, uncle, and aunts, watching him in the desolate treasure room as if silently pleading with him not to let such a fate come to pass.

His father rode hard behind him, and ahead, the castle gates were not yet breached. Still, Silas found it hard to hope.

Even if they won, there was a new hollow within him that had not been there before. He tried to turn his thoughts away from the face that lingered in his memory, tear-streaked and plain, but somehow striking in its beauty.

But she lingered.

“Silas!” his father shouted.

An instant later, a streak of blue light flashed past him. Silas let his leafy cloud shatter apart to avoid it, then cursed himself for his distraction.

There was an awful whinny and a shout behind him.

Silas let his leaf-cloud reassemble and turned back, sensing his father’s horse tumbling over. His father leaped from the wounded animal’s back and somersaulted into the grass. The nearest Jinn closed in on them.

Silas gave up his leafy shape and returned to his human one, ready to do battle and never mind the injuries he’d already sustained from earlier fighting.

He’d taken a sword (even as useless as steel would be against a Jinn) from those discarded by the Telmarines. Future Telmarines, centuries away, as unreachable as the girl who haunted his thoughts even now. His heart ached worse than his injuries, and for a moment, that familiar freckled face floated in his mind, blinding him to the present.

Another streak of blue light darted toward him, catching him unprepared. Silas’s father darted in front of him, holding something up, shield-like but far too small, Silas thought, to do much good. A mirrored bowl. The shining surface deflected the blast of magic, which scattered into rainbows. “Silas, wake up!” his father shouted.

Shaking out of his stupor, Silas looked for the Jinn, and set himself to the grim and weary task of more battle.

But it would not, he realized, have to be the frightening odds of dryad against Jinn. It would be a case, just as it had been with Caspian and Miraz, of soldier against ruler.

The master of each Jinn. A single target, one at a time, again and again, until he finished them, or they finished him.

And if they did finish him, would Jaelyn be waiting, somewhere in that hazy mist of the unknown afterward?

\- # -

 _Anvard Castle, Archenland  
2303_

“Jaelyn?” came Rune’s tentative voice.

“Busy,” she snapped, searching the books in the back of the library.

“Please, Jaelyn. A moment to speak with you. It has been weeks.”

She paused in her restless rifling to turn to the door, which she could just see through the row of shelves in which she searched.

Rune’s hands were folded in his sleeves, and he looked much older than when she’d left Anvard. “I am sorry, child. What more can I say?”

“You lied to me. I deserved to know the truth about magic.”

“I was wrong. It is a part of the histories, and as you are a historian, I should not have kept it from you.”

Jaelyn’s heart squeezed, and she turned back to pulling books and scrolls from their shelves. Was Silas no more than history now? She’d done nothing in her waking hours but comb the books in Anvard’s library, looking for mention of Caspian the Second. If Rune had wanted to see diligence in her before, he must be blessing his fortune now.

“Will you take supper in the clearing?” he asked.

Through her own pain, she heard the heartbreak in Rune’s voice. He had looked on her as a father would a daughter ever since her parents’ passing. She softened. How he must have worried when she was away, even though Anvard was in danger and she was (he thought) far from it.

She left off the books and approached him, then took both his hands in her own. “I forgive you. What you did, you did for love.”

Tears formed in his eyes. He raised a hand to her cheek. “You are changed by your adventure. I can see it in your eyes, child,” he murmured. “Will you not share the story with me?”

She shook her head quickly, fighting tears of her own. Everything was too raw. “I may write about it someday,” she offered.

He gave her a little smile. “You are braver than ever I could have imagined, Jaelyn. Whenever you wish to write it, I will be honored to read it. I am sure it is a tale with great heart.”

Her tears threatened to fall, but she blinked them away. “Thank you.”

“There is singing in the clearing tonight.” He smiled gently. “You needn’t spend all night in here.”

“I want to. I’m looking for ... something.”

“As you wish. But do go to bed at a sensible hour,” he added, sounding a bit more like his old self and drawing a smile from her.

She assured him she would. When he left, she resumed her prowling through old texts. She’d been through half the manuscripts in the library, despairing of ever seeing a mention of the Caspians. Book after book, and scroll after scroll, she searched the current shelf until she came down to a few worn tomes. In the middle of a fat text on foreign culture, squinting by the dimming light of her last candle, she began falling asleep.

With an enormous yawn, she turned the page.

And found something that didn’t belong there.

With shaking fingers, she removed the single, fragile sheet, folded and tucked into a two-page illustration of a dragon. Her heart paused in its beating, then banged harder in her chest as she began to read.

_To Jaelyn Lumen, Scribe of Anvard, Carrier of Shields, Writer of Histories, and Light of My Heart_

_Anvard Castle, Archenland_   
_Lion’s Year 2303 ... I hope._

_My Dearest Jaelyn,_

_Time never seemed so tangible a thing as it does now. A year has passed since I returned to my Narnia. We defeated the threat to Cair, Caspian the Second has returned to Telmar a prisoner, and his younger cousin is to inherit Telmar’s throne in his stead. The days march on, but no matter how the hours pass, they cannot fly nearly enough in speed or number to bring me back to you._

_I know now how my father and mother must have felt during the Great War, so far from one another ... and yet they still had the comfort of soulbinding. I have no such solace._

_I miss your scowls, your disapprovals, your arguments and your stubbornness. I miss your face. I miss the way my life was not so hollow when you were there to fill it._

_I am changed. I cared only for my honor once, but I know now there is something of much greater value. I know also the tragedy of learning this well after I was able to do something with the knowledge._

_My hope is that these words find you, that you will know I am thinking of you every moment of every day that lies between us, and that you will know, above all, that I love you._

_Yours Always,_

_Silas Faywater Pevensie_

_Knight of the Noble Order of the Table_  
Lord of Silverwood  
Prince Regent of the Dryads of Selbaran   


_Silverwood Castle, Selbaran_

Jaelyn’s throat tightened to a strangle. Tears poured down her cheeks and dripped onto the paper, smudging the ink. She shoved the book away and crumpled the letter to her chest, sobbing.

“Why do you weep, child?” came a voice.

A voice she had never heard, but which flowed through her with a golden warmth that convinced her, as nothing else ever had, of the existence of magic.

She turned in her seat, still clutching the letter, full of pain and joy all at once. “He loves me,” she whispered to the voice coming from the shadows of the library. “He loves me. He loves me.”

The owner of the voice stepped forward, and the candle was no longer necessary. The Lion Aslan seemed to glow with a light all his own, his tawny coat brighter than the flame of her dying candle. Jaelyn realized at once how a Lion could rule all of Narnia, and knew she would never question it again.

She scrambled from the chair, conscious of bare feet and ink smudges and tearstained cheeks, and hastily attempted to bow.

“Do not,” the Lion said simply.

She froze, still gripping the letter. Pieces of it flaked onto the floor. More messes ... in the presence of Aslan!

The Lion seemed to sense her awkwardness, for his whiskers bristled in a smile. “You have saved _two_ kingdoms from peril, Jaelyn Lumen.”

“Me?” she squeaked.

“Caspian the Tenth counts you as one of his greatest friends.”

“You’ve seen him? Is he well? Has he—”

The Lion chuckled, interrupting her. “He is better than well. Cair Paravel is standing to this day, thanks to you. But another kingdom owes you its gratitude.”

Jaelyn’s mind raced to grasp the consequences of her adventure. “But isn’t Caspian at Starshold?”

“There is no such place. Where it stood, there is only a ruin. Caspian sits at the Palace of the Four Thrones beside the Eastern Sea.”

“Why have I not read it? Why could I not find mention of Cair? Caspian the Second? Any of it?”

“It is very true, I see,” Aslan said with another chuckle. “You do have trouble holding your tongue.”

She clamped her mouth shut and vowed not to speak another word.

He closed the distance between them. “Lay down the letter. Your master will want to know what has become of you.”

Not understanding, but unwilling to cross Aslan, Jaelyn slid the crumpled letter onto the table.

“Lay your hand on my mane.”

Trembling, she did so.

And the world vanished.


	33. Fleet of Foot, Light of Heart

When she opened her eyes again, Jaelyn saw silvery trees waving in a gentle wind. Through the branches, she spied blue sky and puffy white clouds. She lay underneath the tallest of the trees, sheltered from the sun, her head pillowed on her arms.

When she raised her head, she saw, not a stained, rough-spun robe, but a shimmery gown of a material so fine, it felt like air on her skin. Her feet were still bare, but the grass was buttery soft on her toes. She touched her hair, and it lay like silk, loose on her shoulders.

She rose, then sprinted through the forest with curiosity at her strange situation, rather than fear. The trees flashed past, and she smiled at the effortless way her bare feet raced over the uneven ground. The last she remembered was a library, and the smell of old books which still clung, faintly, to her skin.

Was it a dream, that library? Or was this the dream?

She slowed, then wandered through a pleasantly cool mist until the shape of a huge castle formed ahead of her. Still walking, she passed a scrollwork gate. The people streaming in and out took no regard of her, letting her by as though she belonged there.

It must be a dream, then. How could it be otherwise?

She drifted on, uncontested, letting her feet take her where they would until she arrived at a large room, at the end of which stood a single throne in the shape of an interwoven tree. No other seat graced the dais.

On the throne sat a man.

_Silas._

Her heart pounded, and she rushed toward him.

He rose from his seat at the sight of her, his left eye as moss-green as ever. Over his right, he wore a patch of silver in the shape of a birch leaf.

She wavered to a stop before him, uncertain. He didn’t respond, only stared, standing as still as a monument. Was it a nightmare, then?

Everyone in the room turned to watch them, and she felt suddenly, horribly small and presumptuous.

But then she saw his tears. The way his hands trembled. The way his mouth opened, just a little, to draw in a shaking breath that somehow, she heard.

His throat worked as he swallowed, and then he opened his mouth again. “You are a dryad,” he said.

Aslan! Aslan had done this. Everything fell together. This was no dream. Nothing had ever been more real. Jaelyn made a small, choking sound, the only thing that could escape her throat past the knot of emotions blocking it.

Her family, lost to her, so many years ago. Her yearning to escape the confines of her library. Her frustrated affection for so many years with Rune, and then heartbreak as he sent her away. Her loss as she returned to Anvard, with a sense that she didn’t belong there anymore. The wrenching feeling that she had never truly belonged to any of those things.

Because she belonged here.

Silas leaped off the dais and rushed to her to throw his arms around her. He held her hard against his chest, kissing her all over. “I will never in my life leave your side again,” he whispered.

“I won’t let you,” she said, smiling through her own tears.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips in front of everyone in the room, heedless of decorum.

With her head spinning, Jaelyn almost didn’t notice when he stopped. He took her hand and turned to his subjects. “I vowed to all of you that I would not marry,” he said. “I told you a shameful falsehood, and I beg your forgiveness.” He looked down at Jaelyn, the adoration in his expression unmistakable. “I never thought I’d see her again.”

\- # -

“One more letter, and then I swear I’m finished,” Jaelyn said in between giggles. Silas kept nuzzling at her neck while she attempted to sharpen a quill.

“You’ve written to Rune ... assuming he’ll get it. You’ve written to the Selbarani Council. I’ve written to my parents. What more writing can we do, that can’t wait?” he complained, a note of teasing in his voice. “I have to make up for lost time.” He placed a kiss behind her ear. Another on her cheek. Another on her neck. Jaelyn started to think about things other than writing letters.

She marshaled her nerve. “One more letter,” she repeated.

“Oh, all right,” Silas grumbled. He dropped into a seat across from her desk, then draped his legs casually across the arm of it and flicked open a long scroll as if he were ignoring her. But she caught the gleam in his moss-green eye as he looked sidelong at her from behind the page.

Smiling again, she began composing a last letter.

_To His Majesty Caspian the Tenth, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, Lord of Cair Paravel, Prince of Telmar, King of Narnia_

_Cair Paravel, Narnia_   
_Lion’s Year 2303 ... we think._

_To Our Dear Friend,_

_We wish you the greatest joy in your reign, for it is well deserved. Don’t fret for us. I am where I belong, Silas is where he belongs, and you are where you belong, and for once, the world seems right._

_We are to travel to Cair next month for a long visit, though if we wait much longer, I will be unable to make the journey, as I am expecting a child. (Think of that! Me, who never thought to see the outside of my library, now married and starting a family! Would it please you if we were to name our first boy Caspian?)_

_I know you will be a fine king, for you are the finest and most stalwart of friends, no matter how we are separated by time or place. We shall do our best to pass on to you a future both bright and prosperous. In return, think of us now and again ... perhaps when you’re eating chocolate._

_Affectionately,_

_Jaelyn Lumen Pevensie and Silas Faywater Pevensie  
Lord and Lady of Silverwood_   
_King and Queen of Selbaran_

_Silverwood Castle, Selbaran_

“I’m finished,” she announced, sanding the letter with the little pounce pot on her writing table.

Silas rose from his chair to approach the table. He kissed her ink-stained fingers. “You write more than any creature in Selbaran.”

“One should keep up correspondence with one’s friends,” she said crisply.

Silas pulled her out of her seat, then began to tow her backward toward the cushions spread before their fireplace. His eye gleamed. “One should also spend time with one’s mate.”

“Oh, I suppose so,” she teased. “You were going to teach me how to do that trick with the leaves to throw light.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“I still have a lot to learn about being a dryad,” she informed him.

He slipped an arm around her back to draw her close against him. “My dearest, sweetest, most freckled Jaelyn Lumen Pevensie,” he said, kissing her after each word. “What do we have but time?”

~ The End ~


End file.
